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BOOKS  BY  JAMES  M.   BAILEY 


England  from  a  Back  Window 

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Life  in  Danbury,  Illustrated 

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Mr.  Phillip's  Goneness 

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The  Danbury  Boom,  Illustrated 

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They  All  Do  It,  Illustrated 

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LEE  AND  SHEPARD,  Publishers 
BOSTON 


THE 


DANBURY     BOOlVr 

8Hitb  a  JuU  '^tmxnt  of 
MRS.  COBLEIGH'S  ACTION  THEREIN  ( 

TOGBTHER   WITH 

MANY  OTHER  INTERESTING  PHASES  IN  THE  SOCIAL 

AND    DOxMESTIC    HISTORY    OF   THAT 

REMARKABLE  VILLAGE 


BY 

JAMES     M.     BAILEY 

"Thb  Danbury-Ne*s  Man  " 


BOSTON 
LEE   AND    SHEPARD,    PUBLISHERS 


Copyright.  3880. 

3Y  LEE  AND  SHEPARDt 

AU  rigtits  reserved. 


A  PRELIMINARY  FLOURISH. 


The  chief  (and  perhaps  the  only)  advantage  of  a 
preface  is  that  an  author  can  talk  therein  pretty  much 
as  he  pleases,  as  there  is  no  one  to  hear  him.  Should 
prefaces  ever  be  read,  then  they  will  lose  their  delightful 
charm  of  seclusion,  and  become  so  much  like  the  rest 
of  the  volume  as  to  be  either  dropped  altogether  or 
incorporated  with  the  body  of  the  work. 

Imagining  myself,  therercre,  alone  at  the  back  of  the 
house,  I  proceed  to  exoress  in  oerfect  freedom  the  belief 
that  whatever  may  be  the  literary  merit  of  this,  my  third 
volume  of  sketches,  it  is  a  deal  better  than  the  second, 
as  that  was  also  a  deal  better  than  the  first.  I  said  as 
much  of  the  second  book  when  it  was  published,  and 
the  public  confirmed  the  verdict  in  a  most  gratifying 
manner. 

I  would  bespeak  for  Mrs.  Cobleigh  the  mantle  of 
charity,  if  I  was  sure  of  being  heard,  or  of  her  willing- 
ness to  don  so  unfashionable  a  garment.  An  excellent 
woman  at  heart  is  Mrs.  Cobleigh,  although  she  may 
perhaps  be  too  closely  confined  to  her  sphere.  Possibly 
this  fault  is  so  rare  as  to  be  almost  a  virtue. 


6  A  PRELIMINARY  FLOURISH. 

I  cannot  forbear  to  utter  a  word  of  advice,  although 
abundantly  aware  nobody  will  hear  it.  There  is  no 
plot  to  this  book,  and  consequently  there  is  no  earthly 
need  of  hastening  through  its  pages  to  see  how  things 
are  going  to  turn  out.  Take  plenty  of  time  to  read  it. 
Go  through  it  leisurely,  and  get  the  full  benefit  of  the 
moral.  But  don't  attempt  to  take  in  the  whole  of  it  at 
once  ;  don't  dash  headlong  at  it.    It  is  not  a  free  lunch. 

Having  thus  eased  my  mind,  I  now  put  on  my  coat 
and  go  around  to  the  front  to  show  you  in. 
Yours  sincerely, 

The  Author. 


MRS.  COBLEIGH'S  BOOM. 


THE   COMING    UPRISING. 

There  was  an  active  desire  for  reform  in  Dan- 
bury  at  this  time.  The  entire  community  ran  rife 
with  it.  It  is  a  little  remarkable,  come  to  look 
back  to  the  period,  that  there  was  sufficient  parti- 
san material  in  all  Danbury  to  keep  either  of  the 
two  great  political  parties  in  an  organized  condi- 
tion. But  that  there  was  a  great  deal  more  than 
enough  for  the  purpose,  was  evident  from  the  vio- 
lent throes  the  community  passed  through  in  the 
effort  then  made  to  shake  off  party  yoke.  The 
party  in  power  had  a  ring  established.  The  party 
out  of  power  had  a  ring  to  establish.  These  facts 
were  formidable  enough  to  alarm  a  less  balanced 
borough  than  that  of  Danbury,  and  to  array  the 
best  of  all  citizenship  in  opposition  thereto. 

First,  there  was  a  low  murmur  of  dissatisfac- 
tion, and  then  followed  open  expressions  of  indig- 
nation. These  were  carefully  noted  by  the  Hon. 
Mr.  Guhll,  who  was  a  strong  party  man,  and  con- 
sequently a  discerner  of  the  times.     The  Hon.  Mr, 


8  MRS.   COB  LEIGH'S  BOOM. 

Guhll  was  a  member  of  the  organization  which  we 
shall  speak  of  as  the  "  Outs,"  to  distinguish  them 
from  the  party  then  in  power,  who  were  the  "  Ins." 
He  had  served  the  party  in  the  legislature  as  well 
as  in  minor  positions  of  trust.  He  was  a  large 
man,  with  an  impressive  chest  and  a  face  of  flabby 
frankness.  He  wore  several  rings,  and  a  white 
vest  when  the  season  permitted.  The  rings  he 
wore  through  all  weathers.  With  the  alertness  of 
vision  born  of  the  years  he  had  watched  the  polit- 
ical vane,  he  detected  "the  popular  movement" 
the  moment  of  its  inception.  He  saw  that  the 
feeling,  while  it  aimed  more  particularly  against 
the  Ins,  threatened  the  entire  political  machine  as 
well.  He  mingled  with  the  masses  as  became  a 
man  of  large  heart  and  comprehensive  views  of 
the  government's  necessities.  Politics  had  been 
his  life,  his  hope,  and  his  solace,  and  as  such  he 
knew  the  public  pulse  and  the  public  needs  as 
only  a  lifelong  politician  can  know  them. 

The  Hon.  Mr.  Guhll,  making  himself  assured 
that  the  uprising  was  genuine  and  deep-seated, 
and  not  a  superficial  spasm,  gave  his  full  atten- 
tion to  it,  and,  naturally  enough,  gave  his  unquali- 
fied support  to  its  objects.  There  was  not  a  more 
enthusiastic  reformer  in  all  Danbury  than  was  the 
Hon.  Mr.  Guhll.  If  there  was,  it  must  have  been 
Mr.  Cobleigh.  But  there  was  this  difference 
between  the  two.  Mr.  Cobleigh  lacked  the  expe- 
rience that  had  made  the  Hon.  Mr.  Guhll  almost 
perfect   in    the   selection  and   application   of  the 


MI^S.    COBLEIGH'S  BOOM.  9 

proper  remedies  for  the  disease  of  the  community 
politic. 

Mr.  Cobleigh  worked  in  a  large  factory  where  a 
great  many  men  were  employed.  He  was  a  good 
workman,  an  inoffensive  companion,  a  sympathiz- 
ing friend,  and  an  opponent  of  fraud.  He  was 
well  liked  in  the  factory.  He  was  among  the 
first  to  hear  the  mutterings  of  discontent,  and 
although  not  a  man  of  political  interests,  still  con- 
cerned himself  in  the  welfare  of  his  borough.  He 
heard  the  men  all  about  him  talking  of  the  dread- 
ful corruption  in  office,  and  of  the  equally  dread- 
ful corruption  ready  to  be  sprung  upon  the  village 
should  the  other  party  get  in,  and  Mr.  Cobleigh 
felt  that  his  devoted  borough  was  in  imminent 
danger  of  being  swept  from  the  face  of  the  earth. 
He  brooded  over  this  matter  considerably,  and 
expressed  himself  in  the  factory  freely.  The 
result  was  that  his  fellow-workmen  got  to  looking 
up  to  him  as  one  who  saw  the  danger,  and  was 
prepared  to  battle  against  it.  In  other  words, 
Mr.  Cobleigh  became  a  sort  of  leader,  and  yet 
without  any  effort  on  his  own  part,  and  with  no 
self-consciousness  of  the  fact.  Thus  does  the 
emergency  gravitate  to  the  remedy. 

The  Hon.  Mr.  Guhll  was  not  long  in  finding 
Mr.  Cobleigh.  It  was  natural  that  the  two  should 
instinctively  draw  together.  The  Hon.  Mr.  Guhll 
must  have  had  more  instinct  than  Mr.  Cobleigh 
possessed.     That  was  apparent  enough. 

It  is  useless   to   deny  that  Mr.   Cobleigh    was 


lO  MRS.    COBLEIGH'S  BOOM. 

pleased  with  the  attentions  thus  bestowed  upon 
him.  The  Hon.  Mr.  Guhll  was  a  man  of  wealth 
and  position,  and  his  friendship,  even  his  society, 
were  not  to  be  ignored.  His  years  of  experience, 
to  say  nothing  of  his  natural  grasp  of  situations, 
eminently  fitted  him  to  deal  with  the  problem 
that  now  confronted  Danbury. 

This  was  in  April.  The  next  election  for 
borough  officers  was  to  take  place  the  following 
month. 


n. 

STARTING    THE    UPRISING. 

In   The   News,  of   April    20,  appeared  the  fol- 
lowing advertisement :  — 

RALLY  FOR  REFORM. 
In  view  of  the  unblushing  effrontery  of  the  party  in 
power,  of  the  unmitigated  fraud  practised  iti  the  adminis- 
tration of  the  borough  affairs,  whereby  the  honest  tax-payer 
is  robbed  of  his  hard-ear7ied  subsistence,  it  is  deemed  neces- 
sary that  there  should  be  a  spontatieous  outburst  of  the 
people  in  behalf  of  an  immediate  and  radical  reform. 

To  this  end  a  public  meetifig  of  all  those  interested  in  a 
pure  and  upright  government  is  called  at  the  Opera  House, 
on  next  Saturday  afternoon,  at  two  o'clock,  to  devise  meatts 
and  measures  to  stay  the  tide  of  official  corruption  now 
threatening  to  ingulf  our  fair  village. 
By  order  of 

Committee  of  Citizens. 


MRS.    COBLEIGH'S  BOOM.  II 

This  call  for  the  "  spontaneous  outburst  of  the 
people"  of  Danbury  was  drawn  up  by  the  Hon. 
Mr.  Guhll.  He  had  had  experience  in  such  mat- 
ters, and  could  do  it  much  better  than  could  any 
other  reformer,  and  so  it  naturally  fell  to  his  lot- 
It  was  submitted  to  the  inspection  of  Mr.  Cobleigh 
before  being  put  in  print,  the  honorable  author 
suggesting  that  perhaps  it  could  be  improved  in 
numerous  aspects,  —  a  suggestion  that  was  re- 
ceived, by  Mr.  Cobleigh  with  an  inward  thrill  of 
horror,  and  caused  him  to  color  as  high  up  as  his 
hair  would  permit  to  be  seen.  With  all  haste  he 
protested  that  the  document  was  as  perfect  as  if 
inspired,  and  so  coincided  his  fellow-workmen 
engaged  in  reform,  while  they  rejoiced  that  the 
cause  so  dear  to  them  had  so  influential  and  able 
a  help  as  the  Hon.  Mr.  Guhll. 

The  honorable  gentleman  certainly  showed  no 
lack  of  enthusiasm.  He  took  everything  upon  his 
own  shoulders,  and  shirked  no  responsibility  in 
the  organization  of  the  opposition  to  the  party 
in  power.  And  no  less  busy,  fortunately,  were 
others  of  long  experience  in  political  matters,  and 
it  was  equally  fortunate  that  they  were  of  the 
same  party  as  the  Hon.  Mr.  Guhll,  because  of  the 
advantage  harmony  brings.  Of  these,  three  were 
especially  prominent,  these  being  Mr.  Gagg,  Mr. 
D'Coy,  and  Mr.  Stoohl,  three  gentlemen  who  were 
blessed  with  an  abundance  of  leisure,  if  not  of 
means.  Mr.  Gagg  was  a  red-faced  party,  with 
bristling  side-whiskers,  and  bristling  hair  on  the 


12  MRS.    COBLEIGH'S  BOOM. 

top  of  his  head,  and  a  nose  that  was  as  suggestive 
of  bristling  as  a  nose  can  be.  Mr.  D'Coy  was  the 
opposite  of  Mr.  Gagg.  There  was  nothing  of  a 
bristling  cast  to  any  of  his  features.  He  was  a 
man  of  repose,  with  an  unctuous  air  that  was  quite 
taking.  To  see  Mr.  D'Coy  draw  his  left  hand 
along  his  chin-whisker  was  worth  going  some  dis- 
tance, he  did  it  with  an  air  of  such  intense  satis- 
faction. At  the  table  or  the  bar  this  act  showed 
conspicuously,  and  made  everybody  in  sight  envy 
Mr.  D'Coy  the  enjoyment  of  his  food  and  drink, 
while  it  encouraged  them  to  eat  and  drink  more, 
in  the  hope  to  reach  the  same  degree  of  pleasure. 
Mr.  Stoohl  was  a  soft-spoken  man,  of  so  little 
appearance  anyway  as  not  to  be  noticeable,  cer- 
tainly not  to  be  cared  about,  unless  he  was  work- 
ing in  your  interests,  when  he  became  in  a  certain 
degree  attractive. 


III. 

MR.    COBLEIGH    BECOMES    A    STANDARD-BEARER. 

It  was  proposed  to  put  a  reform  ticket  in  the 
field, — a  ticket  that  would  command  the  support 
of  every  lover  of  good  government, — and  it  was 
further  proposed  to  place  the  name  of  Mr.  Cob- 
leigh  thereon  as  one  of  the  Burgess.  This  propo- 
sition was  made  to  Mr.  Cobleigh  by  the  Hon.  Mr. 
Guhll,  and  was  opposed  by  him  with  the  liveliest 


MRS.    COBLEIGH'S  BOOM.  13 

emotions  of  a  threatened  modesty.  He  blushed 
all  over  at  the  suggestion.  The  Hon.  Mr.  Guhll 
was  determined,  however,  that  his  name  should  be 
used.  He  said  it  was  a  duty  he  owed  to  his  fellow- 
citizens  and  the  interests  of  reform.  He  went  so 
far  as  to  consult  with  some  of  the  men  in  Mr.  Cob- 
leigh's  factory,  and  they  were,  of  course,  heartily 
in  favor  of  it.  In  fact  they  had  already  set  their 
mind  upon  it,  and  would  have  strenuously  insisted 
on  the  nomination,  even  if  it  had  not  been  pro- 
posed by  the  Hon.  Mr.  Guhll. 

So  it  was  fortunate,  indeed,  that  the  honorable 
gentleman  happened  to  hit  on  one  for  the  ticket 
who  was  so  popular  with  the  honest  sons  of  toil. 

The  result  was  that  Mr.  Cobleigh  consented  to 
be  a  standard-bearer,  if  the  uprising  of  the  masses 
in  the  Opera  House  should  see  fit  to  select  him 
for  that  important  position.  There  could  be  no 
reasonable  doubt  of  this,  and  he  began  to  con- 
sider himself  in  the  important  and  pleasing 
light  of  a  candidate.  His  gratification  at  this 
mark  of  favor  could  not  be  denied.  It  had  not 
been  sought,  it  had  not  even  been  expected. 
There  had  been  times  when  way  down  in  his 
heart  he  felt  a  desire  to  figure  in  the  councils  of 
his  town.  It  was  a  hidden-away  ambition,  des- 
tined, he  had  firmly  believed,  to  perish  without 
fruition.  But,  now  that  something  definite  had 
taken  shape,  it  rose  up  with  a  volume  and  force 
that  took  in  his  entire  nature,  and  made  his  quiet 
past  seem  like  a  dreary  and  forbidden  waste. 


14  MRS.    COB  LEIGH'S  BOOM. 

The  more  he  pondered  over  it,  the  more  elated 
he  grew ;  and  from  the  moment  he  gave  his  con- 
sent to  the  use  of  his  name  he  became  a  changed 
man.  He  felt  that  he  could  not  continue  at  his 
work  until  this  matter  was  settled  for  good.  He 
was  too  full  of  expectation,  of  anticipations,  of 
visions  of  dawning  glory,  to  contain  himself  at 
the  bench.  He  started  immediately  for  home  to 
tell  his  wife  of  the  great  crisis  that  had  come  into 
his  life. 

Mrs.  Cobleigh  was  engaged  in  the  semi-annual 
rejuvenation  of  the  vine  and  fig-tree  under  which 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Cobleigh,  and  Master  Cobleigh,  aged 
eleven,  reposed  in  peace.  The  insignia  of  the 
performance  abounded  on  all  sides,  and  plentifully 
greeted  Mr.  Cobleigh  on  entering  the  yard.  The 
best  set  of  furniture  was  piled  on  the  front  stoop, 
the  most  valuable  articles  being  more  easily  seen  ; 
the  walk  around  the  side  was  barred  in  one  place 
by  the  ice-chest,  and  in  another  by  a  table  ;  a 
couple  of  carpets  lay  on  the  grass,  and  a  bed- 
stead and  a  barrel  had  to  be  moved  before  he 
could  get  across  the  back  stoop,  and  into  the 
kitchen. 

Mr.  Cobleigh  moved  these  obstacles  without 
noting  what  they  were,  so  absorbed  was  he  in  the 
object  of  his  mission  home.  Mr.  Cobleigh  had 
his  dinner-pail  in  his  hand,  with  the  uneaten  din- 
ner inside  of  it,  for  the  hour  was  too  early  for  that 
meal,  even  if  he  felt  an  inclination  to  consume  it, 
which  he  did  not. 


MRS.    COB  LEIGH'S  BOOM.  1 5 

Mrs.  Cobleigh  heard  her  lord  enter,  and  looking 
up  saw  the  dinner-pail  somewhat  before  she  saw 
him,  if  that  were  possible.  She  cast  a  startled 
glance  at  the  clock,  and  seeing  it  marked  scarcely- 
half  past  eleven,  her  face  darkened. 

"What  on  earth  possessed' you  to  come  home  to 
your  dinner  to-day  for .-'  You  know  I  've  got  no 
time  to  bother  with  you  !  " 

Mrs.  Cobleigh  uttered  this  depressing  salutation 
in  an  elevated  voice.  As  she  stood  looking  at 
him  there  was  nothing  promising  in  her  aspect,  at 
least  nothing  to  encourage  the  unfolding  of  any 
scheme  that  did  not  directly  bear  on  a  spring 
cleaning.  Her  dress  skirt  was  pinned  up,  disclos- 
ing a  draggled  and  dilapidated  balmoral,  a  pair  of 
dishevelled  stockings,  covered  at  the  feet  with  a 
pair  of  his  own  rubbers.  Her  arms  were  bared  to 
above  the  elbows,  and  were  very  red,  so  far  as  they 
could  be  seen,  but  whether  from  hot  water,  or  the 
cold  air,  was  not  apparent.  Her  face  was  mottled 
with  soot  and  dirt  and  disgust,  and  the  hair  that 
crowned  it  looked  very  much  as  if  the  wearer  had 
been  used,  after  the  manner  of  a  broom,  to  rid 
corners  of  cobwebs. 

Mr.  Cobleigh  took  in  all  of  this  unpromising 
picture  at  a  glance,  and  there  was  the  least  percep- 
tible lowering  of  the  barometer  of  his  hope,  but 
only  for  an  instant.  Then  the  realization  of  the 
future  opening  before  him  flashed  before  his  eyes, 
and  in  its  light  every  shadow  fled  from  sight.  He 
said,  — -- 


1 6  MRS.    COB  LEIGH'S  BOOM 

"I  ain't  thought  anything  about  dinner,  and 
did  n't  know  whether  it  was  noon  or  midnight. 
I  've  got  something  to  tell  you,  Matilda  Cobleigh, 
that  will  take  away  your  appetite  for  weeks  to 
come,  it  will  fill  you  so  full  of  joy."  Mr.  Cob- 
leigh's  face  shone  as  he  uttered  this. 

"What  tomfoolery  are  you  up  to  now?"  she 
demanded  shortly. 

"  Tomfoolery,  is  it !  "  he  retorted.  "  Vini  will  talk 
tomfoolery  on  the  other  side  of  your  mouth  when 
you  hear  what  I  've  got  to  tell  you." 

"Let's  have  it,  then,  for  I've  got  no  time  to 
waste,  I  can  tell  you,"  she  encouragingly  re- 
sponded. 

Mr.  Cobleigh  could  n't  help  staring  at  her  in 
some  degree  of  amazement.  He  did  not  consider 
that  she  was  as  yet  in  total  ignorance  of  the  pend- 
ing revolution  in  his  life. 

"  Why  on  earth  don't  you  speak  V  she  observed, 
in  further  encouragement,  "  or  have  you  lost  your 
wits .? " 

The  first  prompting  that  came  to  Mr.  Cobleigh 
was  to  make  a  reply  fully  flavored  with  domestic 
seasoning,  and  under  almost  any  other  circum- 
stances this  would  have  been  justifiable;  but  he 
understood  in  time  to  check  himself  how  humil- 
iated she  would  feel  when  she  knew  what  he  knew, 
and  to  save  her  this,  as  much  as  possible,  he  for- 
bore to  provoke  her  into  further  temper,  and  sim- 
ply observed,  influenced  thereto  by  the  presence 
of  the  woman  helping, — 


MRS.    COBLEIGH'S  BOOM.  1 7 

"  If  you  will  step  into  the  other  room  for  a 
moment,  I  will  tell  you  something  that  will  make 
you  open  your  eyes." 

As  Mr.  Cobleigh  said  this  he  passed  into  the 
next  room,  and  Mrs.  Cobleigh  followed,  wonder- 
ing what  could  be  the  matter,  and  fearing  that  the 
vvhitcwashcr  had  sent  word  he  could  not  come  in 
the  morning.  In  there,  Mr.  Cobleigh  carefully 
closed  the  door,  and  then  confronting  his  wife, 
impressively  asked,  — 

"  What  do  you  think  .''  " 

"Think  what.'"  she  snapped. 

Mr.  Cobleigh  winced  a  grain,  but  immediately 
recovered. 

"What  do  you  think  of  my  being  elected  an 
officer  —  of  —  the  —  borough  —  of  —  Dan  bury  }  " 
Mr.  Cobleigh's  eyes  glistened  as  he  deliberately 
paced  off  the  more  impressive  portion  of  this 
important  information. 

"  What  on  earth  are  you  talking  about,  Cobleigh, 
or  don't  you  know  ?  "  she  impatiently  cried. 

Mr.  Cobleigh  smiled.  He  saw  how  incredulous 
she  was  of  so  great  an  honor  coming  to  him,  and 
he  could  understand  how  great  the  shock  would 
be  to  her  when  she  finally  was  convinced  of  it. 
This  made  him  smile.     She  said, — 

"If  you  ain't  got  anything  to  do  but  to  stand 
there  grinning  like  an  idiot,  I  '11  find  something  for 
you  !  " 

Mr.  Cobleigh  ceased  at  once  to  smile.  He  felt 
humiliated  by  the  comparison,  and  it  was  only  by 


1 8  MliS.   COBLEIGH*S  BOOM. 

a  powerful  gulp  that  he  succeeded  in  swallowing 
back  the  language  that  rose  to  his  tongue.  Then, 
by  another  effort,  he  forced  himself  to  tell  her 
what  had  happened,  but  warmed  up  into  a  pleas- 
ing fervor  as  he  progressed.  He  told  her  of  what 
was  proposed  by  the  outraged  and  indignant  tax- 
payers of  the  village,  of  the  determination  to  hurl 
from  power  the  present  incompetent  and  corrupt 
body  of  officials,  of  the  call  for  the  uprising  of  the 
masses,  of  the  Hon.  Mr.  Guhll's  proposal  that  he, 
her  husband,  should  take  a  most  important  part 
and  office  in  the  uprising,  and,  finally,  of  his  con- 
sent to  carry  a  standard  in  the  great  fight. 

During  the  recital  of  this  glowing  summary, 
Mrs.  Cobleigh  paid  as  strict  attention  as  was  con- 
sistent with  her  duties  as  a  wife  and  a  mother 
who  did  n't  want  to  live  in  a  hog-pen  all  her  days. 
She  spoke  but  twice.  Once  she  expressed  the 
belief  that  a  pail  of  water  on  the  kitchen  stove 
was  boiling  over.  She  thought  she  could  smell  it. 
The  other  occasion  was  when,  after  a  moment  of 
intent  observation,  she  had  darted  to  a  part  of  the 
base-board,  got  down  and  rubbed  her  finger  over 
it,  and  returned  with  a  sigh  of  relief.  She  then 
said,  "  I  thought  that  woman  had  taken  off  the 
paint;  if  she  had  I  would  have  taken  off  her  head." 
When  he  got  through  she  suddenly  inquired,  — 

"  What  brought  you  home  at  this  hour  .''  Is  the 
shop  shut  down  .''  " 

"Didn't  I  come  to  tell  you  this.''"  he  gasped, 
almost  livid  in  the  face. 


MRS.    COBLEIGH'S  BOOM.  1 9 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  left  your  work 
when  you  had  your  dinner  with  you  to  come  way 
home  to  tell  me  all  that  folderol  about  the  gassing 
of  a  lot  of  bummers  ?  A  nice  thing  for  you  to  go 
and  do,  ain't  it,  mixing  yourself  up  with  that 
rabble,  and  losing  your  work  and  your  wits  ?  If 
you  have  got  so  much  time  to  throw  away,  you  'd 
better  be  at  home  here  helping  me  clean,  instead 
of  gallivanting  all  over  creation  with  a  lot  of  rum- 
suckers." 

Having  delivered  herself  of  this  commicnt,  con- 
clusion, and  eulogium  all  combined,  Mrs.  Cobleigh 
dashed  out  to  take  care  of  the  water  on  the  kitchen 
stove,  and  to  see  that  the  woman  did  not  use  soap 
in  cleaning  the  paint  on  the  window-casings. 

Mr.  Cobleigh,  being  left  alone,  appeared  to  be 
making  strenuous  exertions  to  catch  his  breath,  in 
which  performance  he  was  greatly  aided  by  forci- 
bly slapping  his  brow  with  first  his  right  hand  and 
then  his  left.  Having  in  a  measure  restored  him- 
self by  this  exercise,  he  put  on  his  hat,  drawing 
it  well  down  upon  his  ears  and  eyes,  and  strode 
moodily  from  the  premises,  giving  his  wife,  in  pass- 
ing,  a  look  that  was  calculated  to  chill  her  very 
heart's  blood,  although  we  have  no  evidence  that 
it  did. 


20  MKS.   COBLEIGirS  BOOM. 


IV. 

MR.  COBLEIGH  PREPARES  TO  DO  SOMETHING. 

In  the  three  days  that  intervened  between  the 
publication  of  the  call  for  the  uprising  of  the 
masses  and  the  uprising  itself,  Mr.  Cobleigh  had 
ample  cause  to  believe  that  the  road  to  political 
preferment  was  not  entirely  of  roses,  and  a  lament- 
able reflection  was  that  the  thorns  were  matured, 
not  by  enemies,  but  in  his  own  household.  Mr. 
Cobleigh  was  not  prepared  to  charge  that  his  wife 
was  determined  upon  covering  him  with  the  igno- 
miny of  defeat,  but  it  was  evident  to  the  most 
dispassionate  mind  that  she  was  scarcely  in  har- 
mony with  his  ambition,  and  that  she*  took  no 
interest  whatever  in  the  numerous  but  necessary 
details  of  the  situation.  Mr.  Cobleigh  noted  this 
unfortunate  disposition  on  the  part  of  his  wife 
with  alternating  emotions  of  despair  and  indigna- 
tion, and  gave  expression  to  his  feelings  in  rcnarks 
that  were  lacking  neither  in  point  nor  force, 
however  deficient  they  may  have  been  in  dic- 
tion. 

To  the  estimable  but  sadly  misguided  woman, 
clear  window-glass  was  more  to  glory  over  than  a 
clear  official  record,  and  a  pound  of  good  scouring 


MRS.    COBLEIGH'S  BOOM.  21 

sand  well  laid  on  became  of  more  value  than  a 
torch-light  procession  a  mile  in  length.  If  she 
could  only  get  the  streak  out  of  the  whitewash  on 
the  wall  of  the  back  bedroom,  they  might  have  all 
the  political  honors  in  the  world,  and  welcome  to 
them. 

When  Mr.  Cobleigh  strode  from  his  home,  as 
has  just  been  mentioned,  he  went  straight  to  those 
whose  active  sympathies  his  starved  soul  yearned 
for.  In  their  review  of  the  situation,  with  con- 
verse upon  topics  pertaining  thereto,  he  lost  the 
sense  of  loneliness  that  had  fallen  upon  him  in 
his  home. 

Returning  to  his  domicile  late  in  the  afternoon, 
he  was  struck  with  the  idea  that  a  speech  in 
acknowledgment  of  his  nomination,  when  made, 
was  not  only  what  was  due  to  his  fellow-citizens 
for  their  courtesy,  but  would  be  of  great  advan- 
tage to  himself  in  informing  them  of  the  excel- 
lent ability  which  he  knew  slumbered  in  his  breast, 
but  of  which  they  had  had  no  evidence,  and  which 
they  might  not  suspect  had  an  existence.  The 
more  he  dwelt  upon  this  idea,  the  more  favorable 
it  appeared  to  him. 

But  he  said  nothing  to  his  wife  about  it  on 
reaching  home.  The  bitter  experience  of  a  few 
hours  before  was  still  fresh  in  his  memory,  and  he 
shrank  from  risking  a  repetition.  On  reaching 
the  premises,  he  worked  his  way  quietly  into  the 
house  by  the  front  door,  and  stole  unobserved  up 
stairs,  where  he  expected  (and  succeeded)  to  find 


22  MRS.    COBLE/GH'S  BOOM. 

a  room  not  under  the  devastating  touch  of  mop 
and  brush. 

The  room  was  in  a  stage  of  disorder,  the  table 
and  chairs  being  occupied  with  sundry  ornaments 
and  knick-knacks  from  other  apartments,  but  he 
cleared  a  chair  for  himself,  and  sat  down  to  think, 
pretty  confident  that  he  would  be  uninterrupted  in 
the  process  of  crystallizing  his  thoughts  into  an 
appropriate  address. 

In  less  than  a  half-hour  he  got  the  start  pretty 
clearly  laid  out.  With  this  done  he  went  after 
paper  and  pencil.  This  material  was  kept  in  a 
drawer  in  a  bureau  that  stood  in  their  bedroom 
down  stairs.  Mr.  Cobleigh  slipped  quietly  to  that 
room,  and  succeeded  in  reaching  it  without  attract- 
ing the  attention  of  his  wife,  who  was  undoubtedly 
laying  in  ambush  for  him,  ready  to  spring  out  with 
some  ignoble  duty  for  him  to  perform. 

Mr.  Cobleigh  no  sooner  got  inside  the  apart- 
ment than  he  realized  that  the  getting  there  was 
not  the  most  difficult  part  of  the  mission.  The 
bureau  was  intrenched  back  of  barrels  and  boxes 
and  baskets,  and  over  all  was  a  pile  of  bedding. 
He  set  to  work  with  the  utmost  caution  to  remove 
the  bedding,  and  to  open  a  path  to  the  bureau,  and 
was  succeeding  admirably  when  his  wife  suddenly 
appeared. 

"Where  on  earth  have  you  been?"  she  sharply 
demanded.  "  Here  's  that  stove  to  bring  in,  and 
a  hundred  other  things  to  do,  and  you  off,  the 
Lord  only  knows  where." 


MRS.    COBLEIGH'S  BOOM.  2^ 

In  addition  to  the  sting  of  this  ungracious 
speech  was  the  shock  of  being  discovered  so  inop- 
portunely,    Mr.  Cobleigh  was  almost  furious. 

"  What  did  I  know  about  your  darned  old 
stove.'*"  cried  the  standard-bearer  of  the  reform 
movement.  "  Do  you  suppose  I  have  got  nothing 
to  think  of  but  a  stove,  when  the  masses  are  in 
peril,  you  grovelling  creature  .-*  " 

"  Who  is  to  think  of  the  stove,  if  you  ain't,  I 
want  to  know  ?  "  she  answered.  "  Did  you  expect 
General  Grant  was  to  carry  it  in  for  you,  while 
you  were  loafing  around  some  groggery  .-*  " 

"  I  don't  care  a  darn  who  did  it.  I  've  got  some- 
thing of  more  importance  to  attend  to  than  that, 
I  guess." 

"  Let  it  alone,  then,"  she  spitefully  answered. 
"  I  'm  sure  I  don't  want  you  to  do  anything.  / 
can  help  the  woman  bring  it  in.  /  can  lug  my 
life  out.     /  ain't  fit  for  anything  else." 

"Where  is  the  infernal  thing.''"  he  shouted, 
moving  to  the  door. 

"You  need  n't  touch  it.  You  need  n't  worry 
yourself,"  she  soothingly  continued,  "/ain't  fit 
for  nothing  else.     /  can  do  it." 

Mr.  Cobleigh  was  too  exasperated  to  make  any 
reply  to  this.  He  felt  that  in  action  alone  could 
his  feelings  find  adequate  expression.  He  dashed 
into  the  yard,  and  caught  hold  of  that  stove  as  if 
it  had  been  a  murderer  taken  in  the  act,  and  it  is 
safe  to  say  no  stove  ever  made  better  time  for  the 
distance   than    did    that  piece  of  furniture.     The 


24  MRS.    COB  LEIGH'S  BOOM. 

woman  who  helped  carry  it  had  great  difficulty  to 
keep  her  feet,  and  was  full  fifteen  minutes  recov- 
ering her  natural  breathing  and  getting  over  her 
surprise. 

"  There  /  "  he  spitefully  observed,  as  he  set  the 
article  down.  "I  hope  you  are  satisfied  now!'' 
And  immediately  left  without  waiting  to  hear  if 
she  was. 

The  pencil  and  paper  were  finally  obtained,  but 
the  train  of  thought  so  rudely  broken  was  not 
so  easily  recovered,  and  by  the  time  the  supper 
was  ready,  his  mind  was  so  muddled  with  the 
extraordinary  efforts  to  recover  his  ideas  that  he 
could  hardly  distinguish  his  napkin  from  the  salt- 
cellar. 

He  did  think  he  would  get  his  thoughts  on  paper 
after  tea,  and  was  preparing  to  convey  himself 
undemonstratively  to  the  room  up  stairs  for  that 
purpose,  when  Mrs.  Cobleigh's  query  if  he  was 
going  to  leave  the  sitting-room  carpet  and  ice- 
chest  and  other  things  out  in  the  yard  all  night, 
brought  him  up  with  unpleasant  suddenness. 

"  Great  heavens  !  "  cried  the  standard-bearer  in 
the  reform  movement,  "  I  might  better  let  the 
country  go  to  the  dogs  than  to  be  tortured  like 
this  !  " 

"Tortured!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Cobleigh,  indig- 
nantly. "  A  great  pass  things  have  come  to  that 
you  can't  be  asked  to  do  a  single  thing  about  the 
house  but  what  you  must  talk  of  being  tortured." 

"  I  'd  like  to  know  what  you  would  call  it,  to  be 


MRS.   COB  LEIGH'S  BOOM.  2$ 

eternally  shoving  an  old  carpet  and  an  ice-chest 
under  a  man's  nose  when  he  's  got  the  interests 
of  the  public  on  his  shoulders,  and  a  thousand 
things  to  think  of,  —  if  it  ain't  torture." 

"What  business,"  retorted  the  exasperated 
woman,  "had  you  got  to  go  mixing  yourself  up 
with  this  bar-room  gang  at  such  a  time  as  this, 
I  'd  like  to  know  ?  You  knew  I  was  cleaning 
house,  and  that  everything  is  in  a  heap,  and  that 
I  've  got  more  than  my  hands  full ;  but  it 's  just 
like  you  to  go  to  getting  up  an  election  and  such 
foolishness,  right  in  the  middle  of  all  this  mess !  " 

This  assertion  of  Mrs.  Cobleigh's  was,  despite 
its  apparent  fairness,  unjust  to  Mr.  Cobleigh. 
The  time  for  holding  the  borough  election  had 
not  been  determined  by  him,  and,  in  fact,  he  had 
had  nothing  in  any  way  to  do  with  it.  The  time 
was  fixed  by  parties  who  could  have  been  actuated 
by  no  design  to  interfere  with  Mrs.  Cobleigh's 
domestic  arrangements,  as  their  action  took  place 
some  considerable  time  prior  to  her  birth.  Still, 
it  was  a  very  good  point  to  make,  and  the  excel- 
lent woman  sniffed  in  triumph  as  she  delivered  it. 

Mr.  Cobleigh  uttered  no  word  in  response  to 
this.  He  simply  stared  at  her  in  blank  astonish- 
ment while  she  was  speaking,  and  when  she  fin- 
ished he  started  out  into  the  yard,  as  if  that  was 
a  signal  for  him  to  go.  He  walked  up  to  the 
carpet  as  if  he  was  moving  in  his  sleep,  without 
knowledge  of  where  he  was  going  or  what  he  was 
after.     The  instant  he  reached  it  a  great  chano-e 


26  MRS.    COB  LEIGH'S  BOOM. 

came  over  him.  His  appearance  of  unconscious- 
ness gave  way  to  one  of  marvellous  activity.  With 
a  half-suppressed  scream  he  sprang  upon  the  heap 
of  woof  and  warp,  and  jumped  up  and  down  on  it, 
and  then  kicked  it  viciously  with  both  feet,  and 
then  jumped  up  and  down  again  on  it,  to  the 
unbounded  amazement  of  his  wife,  who  stood  in 
the  door  watching  him.  Then  he  quietly  gathered 
up  the  article  in  his  arms  and  silently  marched 
to  the  house  with  it,  looking  very  much  like  an 
elephant  backing  into  a  circus-ring. 

"  What  on  earth  is  the  matter  with  you,  kicking 
that  carpet  about  like  that .''  "  she  demanded. 

"None  of  your  business,"  he  snapped  back, 
coloring  in  the  face,  and  pushing  by  her  into  the 
house. 

"  Well,  I  must  say  !  "  commented  Mrs.  Cobleigh. 

Throwing  down  the  carpet  as  if  it  was  a  dog, 
he  had  suddenly  discovered  to  be  inhabited,  he 
dashed  out  after  the  ice-chest,  and  immediately 
lugged  that  in,  and  then  seized  the  bedstead  and 
fairly  whizzed  it  inside.  Then  he  smashed  his 
hat  upon  his  head,  and  fled  down  town  to  collect 
his  scattered  and  sadly  demoralized  thoughts. 


MRS.   COB  LEIGH'S  BOOM  2/ 


V. 

MR.    COBLEIGH    DOES    IT. 

Late  in  the  evening,  when  he  returned,  his 
faithful  wife  was  in  the  kitchen  stirring  up  empt- 
ings  for  to-morrow's  bread,  and  taking  advantage 
of  her  occupation,  he  got  his  material,  and  squared 
himself  at  the  dining-room  table  in  the  preparation 
of  a  suitable  response  to  the  honor  his  fellow- 
citizens  contemplated  bestowing  upon  him. 

Composition  was  no  light  matter  with  Mr. 
Cobleigh.  He  had  had  no  call  to  venture  into  it 
beyoiT^d  an  occasional  letter  to  some  member  of 
the  family.  But  this  was  something  far  different 
from  anything  in  that  line,  as  he  presently  dis- 
covered. It  seemed  to  require  a  great  deal  of 
screwing  around  on  the  chair,  and  a  violent  rub- 
bing of  his  head,  and  a  prodigious  wrinkling  of 
his  brow,  to  get  a  start  even. 

He  was  thus  engaged  when  Mrs.  Cobleigh  came 
in  to  prepare  for  retiring. 

"  For  land's  sake,  what  are  you  up  to  now .'' " 
was  her  terse  inquiry. 

"  I  'm  writing  a  speech,  if  you  want  to  know," 
he  answered,  with  some  resentment. 


28  MRS.    COBLEIGWS  BOOM. 

"A  speech!"  Mrs.  Cobleigh  uttered  this  in  a 
tone  of  surprise  that  was  very  irritating. 

"  Yes,  a  speech  !     What  of  it  ?  " 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  a  speech  ? " 

Mr.  Cobleigh  laid  down  his  pencil  and  looked 
deliberately  at  the  wife  of  his  bosom. 

"Well!"  he  finally  blurted;  "you  are  the 
dumbest  woman  I  ever  saw.  What  would  I  tell 
the  masses  when  they  called  on  me  to  lead 
them  } " 

This  was  calculated  to  be  a  poser,  and  to  throw 
Mrs.  Cobleigh  into  a  state  of  confusion.  The 
calculation  was  reasonable  enough,  but  it  mis- 
carried. Without  an  instant's  hesitation,  she 
replied,  — 

"  Tell  them  they  'd  better  be  about  other  busi- 
ness than  getting  drunk  and  kicking  up  a  pow- 
wow over  nothing." 

There  was  something  apparently  derogatory  to 
Mr.  Cobleigh's  personal  value  in  the  closing  word 
of  this  unexpected  reply,  although  it  is  likely  she 
did  not  so  intend  it.  Unfortunately,  Mrs.  Cob- 
leigh had  imbibed  the  strange  notion  that  Politics 
and  Debauchery  were  twin  brothers  who  always 
went  hand  in  hand,  and  was  unable  to  disassociate 
the  twain. 

Mr.  Cobleigh  was  suddenly  taken  with  another 
season  of  difficulty  to  recover  his  breath,  during 
which  he  stared  at  his  excellent  wife  until  his 
eyes  fairly  bulged.  When  he  got  his  breath  he 
gasped,  — 


MRS.    COBLEIGH'S  BOOM.  29 

"Well,  may  I  be  hornswoggled  !  " — hornswog- 
gled  was  a  term  Mr.  Cobleigh  used  only  in  cases 
of  extreme  necessity,  and  his  use  of  it  now  showed 
how  powerfully  he  was  wrought  upon, — "well. 
may  I  be  hornswoggled  if  ever  I  saw  such  a  woman 
as  you  are.  You  're  enough  to  drive  the  Devil 
himself  out  of  his  wits." 

"  Then  I  '11  go  to  bed,  and  get  out  of  his  way," 
was  the  ungracious  rejoinder.  And  the  lady  was 
as  good  as  her  word,  leaving  her  lord  and  master 
staring  at  the  door  through  which  she  departed, 
in  virtuous  indignation. 

When  she  was  gone,  Mr.  Cobleigh  devoted  a 
couple  of  minutes  in  striding  about  the  room  and 
kicking  over  a  chair,  and  setting  it  on  its  feet 
again.  Then  he  smote  his  head  with  both  of  his 
hands  several  times  in  succession,  and  having 
thus  refreshed  himself  he  went  back  to  his  work. 

He  was  not  going  to  say  much,  as  much  was 
not  necessary ;  but  he  was  surprised,  now  that  he 
got  down  to  it,  to  find  how  great  was  a  little, 
when  face  to  face  with  the  paper  it  was  to  go  on. 
He  screwed  around  on  the  chair,  and  clutched 
every  hair  in  his  head  personally,  and  rubbed  his 
scalp  until  it  was  inflamed,  during  the  perform- 
ance ;  and  even  with  all  these  sources  of  inspira- 
tion it  was  long  after  midnight  when  he  got 
through.  Then  he  read  it  over  several  times,  and 
liked  the  sound  of  it  so  much  that  he  went  to  bed 
with  a  feeling  of  satisfaction. 

As  has  beerf  intimated,  there  was  not  much  in 


30  MRS.   COBLEIGH'S  BOOM. 

length  to  the  speech,  but  it  was  full  of  nuggets  of 
wisdom,  sentiment,  and  eloquence,  as  the  following 
copy  bears  abundant  testimony  :  — 
"  Gentlemen  and  Fellow-Citizens  : 
[Mr.  Cobleigh  had  some  doubt  as  to  the  consis- 
tency of  this  combination,  but  put  it  in  as  a  sort  of 
temporary  filling.  He  first  contemplated  "  Ladies 
and  Gentlemen,"  but  subsequent  reflection  led 
him  to  think  that  perhaps  the  fair  sex  would  not  be 
present,  and,  in  doubt  about  this,  he  made  it  "  Gen- 
tlemen and  Fellow-Citizens,"  to  preserve  the  sym- 
metry of  its  shape  until  he  could  know  positively 
about  the  ladies.  It  was  an  admirable  precaution.] 
"The  honor  you  seek  to  confer  upon  me  comes 
so  unexpected,  that  I  feel  totally  unprepared  to 
express  to  you  the  feelings  of  my  breast." 

[This  would  not  be  strictly  true,  taken  at  the  time 
of  delivery,  but  the  sentiment  was  so  beautiful  in 
itself,  and  so  appropriate  to  the  occasion,  that  the 
use  of  it  appeared  like  an  inspiration,  and  Mr. 
Cobleigh  gladly  fastened  to  it.] 

"  It  is  an  honor  I  never  dreamed  of,  and  which 
I  do  not  feel  I  am  worthy  to  receive  ;  and  standing 
before  you  as  I  now  do,  I  feel  almost  dumfounded 
by  what  you  have  done.  It  comes  so  sudden  and 
unexpected  that  I  do  not  know  what  to  tell  you 
about  it,  only  that  I  thank  you  very  much.  The 
movement  you  have  inaugurated  on  this  occasion 
has  my  hearty  sympathy,  as  you  all  well  know.  I 
have  felt,  as  you  have  all  done,  the  corroding  influ- 
ence of  the  party  in  power." 


MRS.    COBLEIGH'S  BOOM.  3 1 

["  Corroding  influence "  was  a  term  Mr.  Cob- 
leigh  once  saw  in  the  printed  report  of  a  speech 
delivered  in  Congress,  and  it  made  such  an  impres- 
sion upon  him  at  the  time  that  it  stayed  with  him, 
and  it  now  struck  him  as  being  highly  desirable  in 
this  connection.  It  was  certainly  an  imposing  fig- 
ure, and  calculated  to  make  itself  felt.] 

"And  I  stand  ready  with  you  this  afternoon  to 
hurl  myself,  in  my  feeble  way,  upon  the  ramparts 
of  the  enemy." 

[Mr.  Cobleigh  was  nearly  an  hour  carving  out 
this  bit  of  pure  metal,  but  he  felt  amply  repaid 
for  his  labor  The  strength  of  his  purpose  to  hurl 
himself  blended  prettily  with  the  modest  estimate 
of  the  force  of  the  hurl,  as  indicated  in  the  words, 
"my  feeble  way,"  and  made  a  very  striking  pic-, 
ture.] 

"  I  look  around  upon  the  masses  before  me, 
and  read  in  your  honest  faces  the  undying  deter- 
mination to  stand  by  the  right  and  beat  treason 
down,  and  I  take  fresh  courage  to  press  onward  in 
the  battle,  carrying  high  the  standard  you  have 
placed  in  my  hands.  Again  I  thank  you,  gentle- 
men, for  the  unexpected  and  overpowering  honor 
you  have  thrust  upon  me,  and  which  I  am  so 
unworthy  to  bear." 

On  the  whole,  this  was  a  very  good  speech.  It 
was  not  rambling,  it  was  not  airy,  it  was  not  a 
strain  after  metaphor.  It  was  simply  a  straight- 
forward piece  of  work,  which  covered  the  entire 
ground,  and  left  nothing  to  be  desired,     Mr.  Cob- 


32  MRS.    COBLEIGH'S  BOOM. 

leigh   could   picture    to   himself    the   thunder   of 
applause  that  would  greet  it. 


VI. 

MR.    COBLEIGH    GETS    DOWN    TO    BUSINESS. 

The  next  ambition  in  Mr.  Cobleigh's  breast 
was  to  commit  his  composition  to  memory.  Even 
in  the  state  of  excitement  he  was  in  he  could 
understand  that  thanking  an  assembly  from  man- 
uscript for  an  unexpected  honor  they  were  con- 
ferring upon  him  had  its  drawbacks ;  and  so  he 
must  commit  it  fully  to  memory.  The  spontaneity 
of  the  affair  must  be  preserved,  even  if  everything 
else  was  lost. 

This  task  he  undertook  the  next  day.  Mrs. 
Cobleigh  was  greatly  scandalized  to  learn,  on 
going  to  put  up  his  dinner  at  breakfast,  that  he 
was  not  going  to  the  factory,  but  had  determined 
to  stay  at  home  to  learn  his  speech.  Poor  woman  ! 
she  could  not  understand  the  imperative  necessity 
of  the  hour,  nor  his  noble  ambition  to  stay  the 
flood  of  corruption  by  interposing  his  own  body  in 
the  way.  It  was  simply  a  matter  of  dollars  and 
cents  to  her,  and  it  made  her  sick  to  think  of  the 
sacrifice  of  these  things  which  he  was  going  to 
make.  She  expressed  with  freedom  and  vigor  her 
views  of  this  "folderol,"  but  she  could  not  change 


MRS.    COBLEIGH'S  BOOM.  33 

him  from  his  purpose,  and  sensibly  abandoned 
the  attempt,  but  compromised  with  her  disappoint- 
ment by  secretly  resolving  to  utilize  him  in  every 
possible  way  in  the  furtherance  of  her  domestic 
schemes. 

During  her  preparation  of  the  morning  meal, 
Mr.  Cobleigh  reread  the  manuscript  to  himself, 
and  felt  proud  of  the  result.  In  the  freedom  from 
the  weariness  of  producing  it  the  effort  shone 
with  increased  lustre.  Naturally  enough,  he 
desired  to  share  this  pleasure  with  the  partner  of 
his  joys  and  sorrows.  The  partner  aforesaid  was 
dressed  as  on  the  day  before.  There  w^ere  the 
same  bare  arms,  the  same  torn  skirt,  the  same 
dishevelled  stockings,  the  same  heated,  flurried, 
aggressive  countenance.  The  partner  was  dart- 
ing in  here  and  out  there,  with  an  air  that  showed 
she  begrudged  every  morsel  of  time  consumed  in 
the  unnecessary  and  uncalled-for  performance  of 
preparing  the  table.  And  yet,  as  Mr.  Cobleigh 
thought  of  the  beautiful  work  he  had  produced,  of 
his  marriage  vow  to  cherish  and  protect  her,  of 
the  future  whose  glory  was  now  so  far  beyond  her 
reach,  his  heart  softened  with  tender  emotions, 
and  he  was  magnanimously  drawn  to  bless  her 
life,  and  lift  her  above  the  things  of  earth  into 
the  bower  of  clouds  he  had  arranged  for  him- 
self. With  this  worthy  purpose  he  notified  her 
of  what  was  coming,  and  straightway  began  to 
bless  her,  not  pausing  to  listen  to  the  grateful 
expressions    his    fond    heart   was    confident    she 


34  MRS.    COBLEIGH'S  BOOM. 

would  shower  upon  him.  And  it  is  just  as  well  he 
didn't.  He  read  on,  and  she  went  on.  He  put  all 
the  impassioned  feeling  into  the  reading  it  was  pos- 
sible to  do,  while  following  her  from  the  pantry  to 
the  kitchen,  and  from  the  kitchen  to  the  dining- 
room,  and  keeping  from  under  her  feet  when  she 
was  suddenly  retracing  her  way.  When  he  finished 
she  said,  — 

"  If  you  have  got  through  with  that  stuff  we 
will  have  breakfast,  before  everything  on  the  table 
gets  colder  than  a  stone." 

"  Stuff  !  "  In  vain  the  standard-bearer  of  the 
party  of  reform  dove  down  into  the  very  recesses 
of  his  vocabulary  for  language  suitable  to  express 
himself.  It  was  no  use.  He  reeled  from  the  un- 
dertaking in  the  exhaustion  of  despair,  and  sank 
into  his  place  at  the  table  with  as  much  emphasis 
as  if  he  had  been  loaded  with  old  iron.  Brief 
though  her  remark  was,  volumes  could  not  have 
flattened  him  out  more  effectually. 

This  was  simply  the  beginning  of  a  series  of 
shocks  that  assailed  the  citadel  of  reform  through 
that  day.  With  his  breakfast  ended,  Mr.  Cobleigh 
retreated  to  his  sanctuary  to  begin  the  operation 
of  transferring  his  speech  to  the  retina  of  his 
mind.  Here  he  was  apparently  safe,  although 
somewhat  trammelled  in  his  movements  by  the 
surplus  furniture  temporarily  stored  there.  He 
pushed  aside  the  high  lamp,  and  albums,  and  vases, 
to  make  room  on  the  little  table  for  his  manuscript, 
and  then  fell  to  work. 


MRS.    COBLEIGirs  BOOM.  35 

The  more  Mr.  Cobleigh  repeated  the  passages 
to  fasten  them  in  his  mind,  the  more  fully  his  na- 
ture became  impregnated  with  the  lofty  sentiments 
therein  contained,  and  the  more  his  body  grew  in 
sympathy  with  the  glow.  And  so  from  standing 
still  at  the  table  he  got  to  moving  about,  and  to 
gesticulating  with  his  right  arm,  by  which  he  would 
sweep  the  air  as  if  to  indicate  the  breadth  of  his 
views  by  calling  attention  to  the  breadth  of  the 
horizon,  or  would  level  it  straight  ahead,  as  if  point- 
ing with  scorn  at  the  unprincipled  party  in  power. 
As  he  progressed,  he  became  so  absorbed  in  his 
subject  as  to  be  totally  oblivious  to  his  surround- 
ings, and  thus  it  was  not  a  matter  of  surprise  that, 
in  a  movement  backward,  expressive  of  embarrass- 
ment at  the  unexpected  honor  of  the  nomination, 
he  should  step  on  the  end  of  a  rocker,  and  over- 
turn a  chair  with  a  toilet  pitcher  and  bowl  thereon, 
although  he  appeared  to  be  somewhat  surprised 
himself.  In  truth,  Mr.  Cobleigh  was  so  deeply 
affected  as  he  looked  upon  the  shivered  china, 
that  he  involuntarily  exclaimed,  "  Holy  shortcake  !  " 
and  stood  for  a  whole  moment  staring  at  the  wreck. 
Then,  as  if  suddenly  inspired,  he  hastily  gathered 
up  the  pieces,  and  stowed  them  back  of  a  cup- 
board. 

He  had  scarcely  returned  to  his  labor  when  Mrs. 
Cobleigh  appeared  at  the  door  with  the  announce- 
ment that  the  kitchen  carpet  was  ready  to  beat. 

There  was  something  so  entirely  at  variance  be- 
tween purifying  a  political  atmosphere  and  sweep- 


36  MRS.    COBLEIGH'S  BOOM. 

ing  a  carpet,  that  the  standard-bearer  of  the  great 
reform  movement  was  obhged  to  have  the  infor- 
mation repeated  before  he  could  fully  credit  his 
senses  with  having  received  it. 

Of  course  there  was  a  violent  protest  on  his  part 
against  the  carpet  operation.  The  very  idea  was 
repulsive  to  him.  What  was  the  matter  with  his 
wife  ?  Was  she  mentally  diseased  }  Could  it  be 
possible  that  the  finer  sensibilities  of  her  nature 
were  perfectly  dead,  so  she  could  no  longer  discern 
the  difference  between  the  mighty  effort  of  a  com- 
munity to  shake  off  an  incubus  and  that  of  a  man  to 
shake  a  carpet .-'  His  first  impulse,  and  reasonable 
enough  it  appeared,  was  to  cut  his  throat  where  he 
stood,  and  end  a  blighted  existence  on  the  spot ;  but 
on  her  threatening  to  go  out  and  shake  the  carpet 
herself,  in  full  sight  of  all  the  neighbors,  he  modi- 
fied his  views  and  dashed  out  at  the  carpet  him- 
self, taking  occasion  to  announce  incidentally,  on 
the  way,  that  after  he  was  dead  she  would  be  sorry 
for  this. 

In  response,  she  told  him  to  be  careful  in  beat- 
ing it,  as  it  was  about  in  pieces  already. 

Still  later,  when  once  more  bathing  in  the  glories 
of  ennobling  sentiment,  the  unhappy  woman  ap- 
peared again,  and  electrified  him  with  the  intelli- 
gence that  there  was  a  tub  of  water  to  be  emptied 
out.  Mr.  Cobleigh  was  but  flesh  and  blood,  after 
all,  and  his  whole  nature  shrank  from  this  degrad- 
ing office. 

"What  on  earth  do   you   mean   by  coming  to 


MRS.    COB  LEIGH'S  BOOM.  37 

me  with  such  devilish  stuff?"  he  excitedly  de- 
manded. 

"Well,  things  have  come  to  a  mighty  queer  pass 
if  you  have  got  above  doing  anything  about  your 
own  house,"  she  retorted. 

"  Great  heavens  !  have  n't  you  got  any  sense  at 
all  .-*  "  he  cried,  "  or  don't  you  know  anything  what- 
ever .''  I  should  think  you  'd  be  ashamed  of  your- 
self. You  expect  I  can  prepare  myself  for  the 
responsibilities  of  a  public  station,  and  empty  out 
slops,  and  do  all  kinds  of  bugger-lugging  at  the 
same  time.  Here  the  people  of  this  community 
have  selected  me  from  a  thousand  to  carry  their 
standard  in  a  desperate  fight  against  corruption 
and  fraud,  and  you  have  got  such  a  one-horse  idea 
of  the  importance  of  my  position  that  you  expect 
I  can  empty  a  tub  of  suds  just  the  same  as  if  I 
had  n't  been  picked  out  to  lead  the  masses  to  vic- 
tory. A  devilish  nice-looking  spectacle  I  'd  make, 
would  n't  I,  carrying  out  a  big  reform  and  a  tub 
of  dirty  water  at  the  same  time .''  And  a  nice  help 
to  your  husband  you  are,  ain't  you,  expecting  him 
to  shine  in  public  life  and  do  your  drudgery  too  .'' 
I  should  think  you'd  be  ashamed  of  yourself." 

Mr.  Cobleigh  struck  the  table  with  his  fist  as  he 
delivered  this,  and  immediately  inquired  of  Heaven 
why  his  life  was  prolonged  under  such  discour- 
aging circumstances ;  whereupon  Mrs.  Cobleigh 
said  she  would  empty  the  tub  herself ;  it  might 
cripple  her  for  life  in  doing  it,  but  she  had  always 
had  to  slave  and   toil   and   do  the   work   of   two 


38  MRS.    COB  LEIGH'S  BOOM. 

women,  and  she  always  expected  to.  And  then 
she  started  off  as  if  she  really  entertained  a  design 
to  carry  the  tub  herself.  Whereupon  Mr.  Cob- 
leigh  smote  his  two  fists  together  with  great  vio- 
lence, and  vehemently  swore  he  was  half  a  mind 
to  let  the  world  go  to  thunder,  and  finish  his  exist- 
ence on  some  foreign  island  in  a  far-off  sea. 
And  then  he  went  out  and  emptied  the  tub. 


VII. 

THE    MASSES    PREPARE    TO    UPRISE. 

Saturday  afternoon  and  two  o'clock  thereof 
eventually  arrived,  and  the  meeting  was  con- 
vened in  the  Opera  House.  There  was  a  fair 
attendance  of  honest  sons  of  toil  and  other  out- 
raged tax-payers,  eager  to  hurl  from  power  the 
party  of  miscreants  who  had  ruled  to  ruin  for  five 
annual  terms. 

The  meeting  was  called  to  order  by  Mr.  Gagg, 
who  read  the  call. 

"Gentlemen,"  said  Mr.  Gagg,  "it  is  first  in  or- 
der to  choose  a  chairman  to  preside  over  this 
intelligent  gathering.  Our  coming  together  being, 
as  the  call  hints,  an  entirely  spontaneous  matter, 
produced  by  the  pressure  of  a  serious  emergency, 
there  has  been,  of  course,  no  premeditation,  no 
preparation  for  organization.  It  is  natural  that  in 
the  uprising  of  an  outraged  constituency  the  ob- 


MRS.    COB  LEIGH'S  BOOM.  39 

ject,  rather  than  the  course  leading  to  it,  should  be 
primary,  but  at  the  same  time  system  is  of  impor- 
tance, and  I  suggest,  as  being  entirely  consistent 
with  the  object  that  has  brought  us  together,  that 
a  chairman  of  the  meeting  be  chosen  to  preside 
over  its  deliberations.  Gentlemen,  will  you  sig- 
nify your  pleasure  in  the  choice?" 

As  Mr.  Gagg  concluded,  his  glance  uncon- 
sciously fell  upon  Mr.  Cobleigh.  And  as  he  did 
so  that  gentleman  cried  out, — 

"  I  nominate  the  Hon.  Mr.  Guhll  as  chairman 
of  the  meeting." 

"  Second  the  motion,"  promptly  came  from  an- 
other part  of  the  hall. 

At  this  juncture  it  was  evident  that  the  Hon. 
Mr.  Guhll,  who  was  looking  very  much  embar- 
rassed at  the  unexpected  demonstration  in  his 
behalf,  was  about  to  rise  and  protest  against  the 
honor.  But  Mr.  Gagg  was  too  quick  for  such  a 
move,  and  before  the  honorable  gentleman  could 
get  to  his  legs,  the  motion  was  put  and  car- 
ried, and  carried  with  a  shout  that  shook  the  build- 
ing. 

No  one  could  help  being  gratified  by  such  an 
outburst  of  public  favor,  and  even  the  well-tried 
face  of  the  Hon.  Mr.  Guhll  flushed  with  a  nat- 
ural color  as  he  stepped  up  to  the  platform  and 
laid  his  hat  on  its  crown  on  the  table.  There  was 
a  hush  in  the  audience. 

"  Friends,"  said  the  gentleman  in  a  tone  of 
blended  affection  and  dignity,  and  looking  into  his 


40  MRS.   COBLEIGfPS  BOOM. 

hat,  "  I  would  fail  of  the  noblest  attribute  of  the 
human  heart,  that  of  gratitude,  if  I  were  not 
deeply  affected  by  this  mark  of  esteem  that  you 
have  shown  me.  I  did  not  come  in  here  with  the 
expectation  of  taking  any  part,  unless  it  was  the 
very  humblest,  in  these  proceedings.  I  was  at- 
tracted here,  I  must  say,  by  my  sympathy  with 
the  object  that  has  drawn  you  together  this  after- 
noon (applause),  and  you  can  judge  of  my  aston- 
ishment at  hearing  my  name  offered  as  the  chair- 
man of  your  convention.  Had  my  emotions  been 
under  better  control,  I  would  have  risen  at  once 
and  declined  the  honor  I  am  so  unworthy  to  bear 
(applause),  but  before  I  could  recover  myself  your 
generous  action  had  made  me  your  chairman ;  and 
as  I  make  it  a  point  to  shrink  from  no  duty  my 
fellow-citizens  have  called  me  to  perform,  I  shall 
try  to  overcome  the  sense  of  my  own  unfitness, 
and  do  the  best  in  my  humble  power  to  serve  your 
interests  on  this  important  occasion.  (Applause.) 
There  is  no  need  to  assure  you  of  my  hearty  sym- 
pathy with  the  noble  purpose  that  has  brought  you 
together.  (Tremendous  applause.)  The  masses 
rising  in  their  might  to  vindicate  their  rights  and 
to  rebuke  a  villanous  ring  (applause)  is  one  of  the 
grandest  spectacles  vouchsafed  to  man  (applause), 
and  I  rejoice  to  be  considered  worthy  to  take  a 
part  in  this  forward  movement.  (Applause.)  Gen- 
tlemen, again  permit  me  to  assure  you  of  my  deep 
gratitude  for  this  manifestation  of  your  generous 
confidence  and  esteem.     (Vociferous  applause.) 


MRS.    COBLEIGH'S  BOOM.  4^ 

"  I  suppose  the  first  business  we  must  attend  to 
is  the  choice  of  a  secretary  to  record  the  transac- 
tions of  the  meeting.  Will  you  please  signify 
your  preference? " 

Mr.  Gagg's  name  was  moved  and  seconded,  and 
as  promptly  carried,  and  that  gentleman  blushingly 
accepted  the  honor. 

"If  I  understand  the  spirit  of  the  call,"  said  the 
chairman,  "which  I  had  the  pleasure  of  perusing 
in  the  paper,  and  which  informed  me  of  your  hon- 
orable gathering,  this  meeting  is  called  to  protest 
against  the  reprehensible  way  our  borough  affairs 
are  administered,  and  to  nominate  a  ticket  favor- 
able to  the  interests  of  the  community  at  large,  to 
be  submitted  to  the  suffrages  of  the  people  of  Dan- 
bury  at  the  coming  election.  This  being  the  case, 
the  next  business  in  order,  I  judge,  is  the  nomina- 
tion of  the  ticket.  How  will  you  proceed  to  this 
business,  gentlemen .-' " 

At  this  Mr.  D'Coy  sprang  to  his  feet,  and  pro- 
posed, as  being  the  most  convenient  and  expedi- 
tious way,  that  a  committee  of  five  be  appointed 
to  select  the  names  for  the  ticket.  Mr.  D'Coy's 
proposition  favorably  struck  the  assemblage  of 
indignant  tax-payers,  and  while  he  was  stroking 
his  whisker  it  was  adopted.  The  selection  of  the 
committee  was  next  in  order.  Mr.  Stoohl  rose, 
and  gravely  suggested,  with  a  propitiatory  air  to  all 
present,  that  to  save  time  and  useless  discussion 
the  chairman  appoint  the  committee.  Hereupon 
the  Hon.  Mr.   Guhll   took  occasion  to  thank  the 


42  MA'S.    COBLEfGH'S  BOOM. 

gentleman  for  the  honor  proposed,  but,  he  said, 
the  appointing  of  so  important  a  committee  was  a 
grave  responsibility,  requiring  wisdom,  judgment, 
and  experience  in  its  discharge,  and  he  — 

Mr.  Stoohl  interrupted  to  say  that  he  under- 
stood, as  did  the  meeting,  that  these  qualities 
were  necessary,  and  that  was  just  the  reason  he 
proposed  their  honored  chairman  for  the  office., 
knowing,  when  he  did  so,  that  he  was  but  echoing 
the  sentiments  of  the  industrious  and  intelligent 
gentlemen  about  him.  A  murmur  of  applause 
followed  this  announcement,  and  before  it  died 
away  Mr.  Gagg  sprang  to  his  feet  and  cried,  — 

"  It  is  moved  and  seconded  that  our  noble  chair- 
man select  the  committee  to  present  a  ticket  for 
borough  officers.  Those  in  favor  of  the  motion 
will  please  signify  it  by  saying  aye." 

It  was  a  perfect  hurricane  of  ayes. 

"  It  is  scarcely  necessary  to  call  the  noes,"  said 
Mr.  Gagg,  with  a  triumphant  smile,  in  which  his 
fellow-citizens  joined. 

The  Hon.  Mr.  Guhll  modestly  thanked  the 
gentlemen  for  their  confidence;  and  looking  into 
the  crown  of  his  hat,  as  if  he  was  really  reading 
the  names  from  a  list  therein,  announced  the 
members  of  the  committee.  The  gentlemen 
selected  retired  for  deliberation.  During  their  ab- 
sence the  Hon.  Mr.  Guhll  called  on  Mr.  D'Coy  for 
a  speech,  and  that  gentleman  responded  in  a 
vigorous  onslaught  upon  corruption  in  office  and 
politicians  generally,  and  wound  up  with  a  glow- 


MRS.    COBLEIGH'S  BOOM.  43 

ing  tribute  to  the  nobility  of  the  masses  in  their 
struggles  against  venality. 

As  he  closed,  and  while  the  building  was  quiv- 
ering with  the  shock  of  applause,  the  committee 
returned  and  made  their  report. 

The  ticket  selected  was  as  follows :  — 

For  Warden,  Joseph  Fangs. 

For  Burgess,  William  Bangs,  John  Hangs,  Wil- 
liam B.  Cobleigh,  Tollman  Dangs,  Irwin  Spangs. 

For  Clerk,  Isaiah  Richardson. 

For  Treasurer,  Robert  Mangs. 

For  Board  of  Relief,  Everett  Tangs,  Myron 
Willoughby,  Silas  Langs. 

For  Auditor,  Joseph  Whangs. 

The  reading  of  the  names  was  greeted  with 
approval,  and  the  ticket  entire  was  adopted  amid 
tumultuous  cheering,  in  which  the  throats  of  the 
reformers  were  stretched  to  the  utmost.  One 
man,  in  an  obscure  position  under  the  gallery, 
intimated  rather  broadly  that  there  was  a  pretty 
large  per  cent  of  ' Angs  on  the  ticket,  but  he  was 
frowned  down  summarily,  and  seeing  that  he  was 
not  sympathized  with,  he  took  his  departure  in  a 
huffy  manner.  Three  or  four  equally  sore-headed 
persons  followed  him  out.  The  convention  was 
well  rid  of  this  element,  which,  if  retained,  was 
designed  to  make  trouble.  The  'Angs  were  ear- 
nest laborers  in  the  reform  vineyard,  or  the  com- 
mittee would  not  have  chosen  them,  and  that  the 
committee  was  of  the  right  sort  was  guaranteed 
by  the  fact  that  the  honorable  chairman  formed 


44  MRS.    COBLEIGH'S  BOOM, 

it.  Then  again  the  'Angs  were  from  the  ranks 
of  the  same  party  that  had  held  the  honorable 
chairman  and  Messrs.  Gagg,  D'Coy,  and  Stoohl, 
and  certainly  ought  to  be  well  known  to  them. 

The  Hon.  Mr.  Guhll  now  rose,  and  said  that 
while  he  was  pleased  with  the  ticket  generally,  he 
was  particularly  gratified  with  the  selection  of  one 
of  the  standard-bearers  in  the  impending  struggle 
against  corruption.  He  knew  him  to  be  a  man 
of  unblemished  integrity,  and  one  of  the  most 
sincere  in  the  great  movement  they  had  met  to 
further.  He  trusted  the  meeting  would  have  the 
pleasure  of  hearing  from  his  honored  friend, 
William  B.   Cobleigh,  Esq. 

The  announcement  of  the  name  took  a  trem- 
ulous hold  upon  the  enthusiasm  of  the  audience, 
and  appeared  to  be  dragging  it  out  by  the  roots. 
The  name  of  Cobleigh  was  cried  all  over  the 
house,  to  the  great  agitation  of  that  excellent 
gentleman,  who  was  seated  in  the  body  of  the 
hall,  well  up  to  the  front,  where  he  had  taken  the 
liveliest  interest  in  all  the  proceedings. 

He  had  been  over  his  speech  so  many  times 
before  coming  to  the  hall  that  he  believed  it  was 
fully  gathered  in  his  mind,  and  so  gave  himself 
up  largely  to  the  exercises  about  him.  Still,  he 
occasionally  withdrew  within  himself  to  gloat  over 
the  choice  sentences,  and  to  speculate  upon  the 
surprise  his  acquaintances  were  going  to  feel  when 
the  grand  thoughts  flowed  in  streams  of  graceful 
expression  from  his  lips.     They  would  little  sus- 


MA'S.    COBLEIGH'S  BOOM.  45 

pect  that  he  had  previously  written  and  committed 
t(j  memory  his  speech  of  acceptance. 

He  was  in  a  tremor  from  the  moment  his  name 
was  read  on  the  ticket  until  the  chairman  called  for 
him,  —  in  a  tremor  of  fear  that  his  fellow-citizens 
might  be  deterred  from  calling  him  out  through 
concern  for  his  embarrassment  and  fear  of  his 
failure,  and  thus  lose  the  electricity  he  had  pre- 
pared for  them.  The  reflection  made  him  quite 
sick,  until  the  Hon.  Mr.  Guhll  put  the  doubt  to 
flight.  Then  followed  the  shouting  of  his  name, 
and  Mr.  Cobleigh  felt,  as  he  subsequently  ex- 
pressed it,  as  if  a  furnace  door  had  been  suddenly 
opened  within  an  inch  of  his  face.  How  he  got 
to  his  feet  he  did  not  know.  He  got  there,  how- 
ever, and  had  sufficient  presence  of  mind  to  turn 
about  and  face  the  audience,  but  beyond  that 
there  was  but  little  intelligent  action.  He  saw 
the  faces  —  expectant  faces,  hopeful  faces,  curious 
faces  —  turned  upon  him.  For  a  flash  they  were 
distinct  and  stationary,  and  then  they  whirled 
around,  and  rose  and  fell  in  an  undistinguishable 
mass.  His  face  felt  puffed  up  to  a  degree  that 
was  threatening  to  close  his  eyes,  which  were  at 
the  same  time  filling  with  water.  There  came  a 
relief  in  the  applause  that  greeted  his  rising,  but 
when  that  ceased  it  seemed  as  if  the  silence  was 
a  blister  that  completely  covered  his  remaining 
confidence  and  took  it  from  him.  It  was  then  he 
fully  comprehended  how  great  is  tlie  difference 
between  reciting  a  speech  in  a  room  by  himself 


4^  MJiS.    COBLEIGH'S  BOOM. 

and  delivering  it  in  the  midst  of  a  multitude. 
His  knees  trembled,  his  tongue  grew  to  double  its 
usual  size,  while  chills  and  perspiration  fought  for 
the  possession  of  his  body.  His  fellow-laborers  in 
the  field  of  reform  appeared  to  be  so  many  execu- 
tioners after  his  life,  and  he  was  really  obliged  to 
make  an  effort  to  keep  himself  from  falling  upon 
his  knees  there  and  then,  and  begging  for  their 
mercy.  But  he  must  speak  —  he  must  get  his 
tongue  away  from  the  roof  of  his  mouth  —  he  must 
do  something ;  he  could  not  stand  there  and  stare 
at  them  another  moment  without  covering  himself 
with  eternal  ridicule.  With  a  powerful  wrench 
he  freed  his  fettered  tongue,  and  gurgled,  — 
"Ladies,  gentlemen,  and  fellow-citizens  —  " 
[Mr.  Cobleigh  realized  at  once  the  blunder  thus 
made,  but  it  was  too  late  to  recover,  and  he  hoped, 
with  the  self-deception  common  to  immatured 
orators,  that  the  audience  would  not  discover  it, 
being  of  the  belief  that  the  agitation  he  experi- 
enced was  epidemic.  But  with  the  fondling  of 
this  hope  occurred  the  loss  of  the  thread  of  his 
discourse.  It  went  from  him  in  a  flash,  and  he 
immediately  found  himself  in  an  appalling  maze, 
and  fell  violently  to  work  to  plunge  out  again,  in 
doing  which  he  brought  to  the  surface  the  follow- 
ing fragments :  ] 

"  The  honor  you  have  given  me  I  feel  as  you 
have  done.  And  I  feel  ready  to  hurl  myself  on 
the  enemy.  I  am  —  I  believe,  and  I  know  you 
all  do.     I  —  the  party  in  power  are  corrodmg  the 


MRS.    COBLEIGH'S  BOOM.  47 

offices,  and  that  the  standard-bearer  you  have  put 
in  my  hands." 

[This  was  perfectly  dreadful.  He  knew  every 
misstep  he  was  making,  but  there  was  no  help. 
He  was  growing  blind  and  crazed,  but  he  pushed 
madly  ahead,  making  the  most  frantic  plunges  in 
a  direction  that  was  presumably  toward  land.] 

"I  see  your  honest  faces,  and  —  and  —  and 
when  I.  Let  us  take  more  courage  in  this  unex- 
pected honor.     Let  —  let  us  —  us  —  us.     Oh!" 

And  Mr.  Cobleigh,  completely  undone,  sank 
with  a  thud  into  his  chair,  while  great  drops  of 
ice-water  ran  down  his  face  and  back.  The  audi- 
ence looked  at  each  other  for  an  instant  in  a 
bewildered  way,  and  then  followed  the  lead  of 
Messrs.  D'Coy  and  Stoohl  in  a  tremendous  burst 
of  applause. 

Their  appreciation  gratified  while  it  pained  him. 
If  the  snarled  bits  of  wreck  he  had  brought  to  the 
surface  impressed  them,  what  would  have  been 
their  reception  of  the  completed  structure  ?  He 
groaned  as  he  thought  of  it. 

It  struck  him  as  being  phenomenal,  that  while 
he  was  on  his  feet  the  points  in  his  discourse 
deserted  him,  but  now  he  had  sat  down  they 
came  back  to  him  in  distinct  form  ;  and  as  one 
after  another  stood  out  from  the  impenetrable 
gloom  into  which  they  had  so  abruptly  disap- 
peared, he  groaned  afresh. 


4^  MRS.   COBLEIGirS  DOOM. 


VIII. 

MR.  COBLEIGH  INFORMS  MRS.  COBLEIGH. 

The  following  week  was  one  of  activity  in  the 
circles  of  the  reform  party.  As  a  standard-bearer, 
Mr.  Cobleigh  was  precipitated  on  and  kept  revolv- 
ing about  the  middle  of  it.  And  it  seemed,  as  he 
subsequently  related  with  great  earnestness,  that 
the  very  Old  Nick  himself  had  taken  possession  of 
his  long-suffering  but  grovelling  wife. 

This  was  unfortunate,  and  greatly  to  be  deplored. 
Mrs.  Cobleigh  was  not  a  woman  of  vicious  in- 
stincts. Far  from  it.  She  was,  as  Mr.  Gagg  put 
it  to  a  few  choice  friends,  "infernally  busy,"  and 
in  the  necessary  rush  and  worry  and  care  of  this 
industrious  state,  she  lost  sight  of  the  grand  pur- 
poses and  noble  resolves  actuating  the  masses. 
Mr.  Cobleigh's  elevation  came  at  an  unfavorable 
time.  It  found  Mrs.  Cobleigh  up  to  her  shoulders 
in  suds,  and  over  her  head  in  care.  Her  home 
was  more  to  her  than  all  the  earth  beside.  It  was 
her  heaven.  And  Mrs.  Cobleigh  was  cleaning 
heaven  just  now,  and  could  not  submit  to  the 
mtroduction  of  anything  so  foreign  as  politics. 


MRS.    COBLEIGH'S  BOOM.  49 

On  his  return  home,  late  in  the  afternoon,  from 
the  caucus,  Mr.  Cobleigh  was  in  high  spirit,  barring, 
of  course,  such  flashes  as  reminded  him  of  the 
oratorical  mishap. 

He  drew  pictures  of  himself  in  the  councils  of 
the  borough  government,  and  seriously  acted  upon 
a  number  of  important  measures  for  the  good  of 
the  community  while  on  the  way,  and  on  reaching 
home  his  brow  was  drawn  in  perplexed  thought 
over  a  suggestion  to  add  two  more  lamps  to  Essex 
Street. 

So  absorbed  was  he  in  these  matters,  that  he 
did  not  see  his  wife  until  he  had  about  stepped 
into  her  arms,  although  it  is  but  just  to  her  to  say 
that  she  was  not  contemplating  any  such  embrace. 
She  was  coming  out  the  door  with  a  pail,  and  was 
looking  very  much  heated  and  upset,  —  "draggy," 
she  would  call  it. 

"Well,"  she  exclaimed,  "you  have  got  back  at 
last !  Where  on  earth  have  you  stuck  yourself  all 
the  afternoon .'' " 

Mr.  Cobleigh  was  too  full  of  joy  and  pride  to 
notice  the  extremely  practical  aspect  of  this  salu- 
tation.    He  hastily  cried, — 

"What  do  you  think,  Matilda.-'  They  have 
really  nominated  me  for  one  of  the  burgess  of  the 
borough  of  Danbury.  The  great  reform  move- 
ment has  chosen  your  husband  for  a  standard- 
bearer  !" 

"  Well,  you  'd  better  standard-bearer  out  to  that 
pump,  and  get  a  pail  of  water,  if  you  are  going  to 


50  MRS.    COBLE IG//\S  BOOM. 

have  any  supper  here  to-night,"  was  the  somewhat 
unexpected  response. 

"My  heavens!"  cried  Mr.  Cobleigh,  almost 
transfixed  by  this  remark,  "is  that  all  you  care 
about  the  great  honor  given  to  me.-'" 

"  I  know  there  's  supper  to  get,  and  that  I  've 
got  to  get  it,  and  that  I  'm  all  tuckered  out,"  she 
retorted  with  spirit.  "  I  suppose  you  think  I  've 
got  nothing  to  do  but  to  stand  here  and  listen  to  a 
lot  of  political  gab.  Yoti  can  leave  your  work  and 
gad  about  town  with  a  mess  of  bummers,  and  you 
think  /  've  got  nothing  to  do  but  stand  here  and 
listen  to  you  when  you  get  back.  I  guess  if  I 
did  as  you  do,  you  'd  have  nothing  to  cram  your 
stomach  with  when  you  got  home,  or  a  whole  coat 
on  your  back  when  you  went  out.  And  if  you  'd 
been  to  the  factory  tending  to  your  work,  instead 
of  making  a  spectacle  of  yourself  tramping  around 
the  streets  with  a  lot  of  drunken  scalawags,  you  'd 
done  something  of  some  account."  With  this 
summary  of  her  views  of  the  political  situation, 
Mrs.  Cobleigh  dropped  the  pail  abruptly  at  his 
feet,  and  retired  indoors. 

The  first  impulse  of  the  standard-bearer  of  the 
reform  movement  was  to  give  the  pail  a  kick  that 
would  send  it  over  the  fence  into  the  next  yard, 
and  heroically  go  off  without  his  supper ;  but  he 
resisted  it,  and,  picking  up  the  pail,  strode  gloom- 
ily up  to  the  pump,  where  he  set  down  the  vessel 
with  an  emphasis  that  might  have  been  heard  in 
the  street.     Had  it  been  an  open  instead  of  a  cov- 


MRS.    COBLE/GH'S  BOOM.  5  I 

ered  well,  there  is  some  reason  to  believe  he  would 
have  cast  himself  into  it,  and  ended  his  unhappy 
existence  and  the  hopes  of  the  masses  at  one 
stroke. 

He  was  sorely  wounded.  His  expanding  mind 
chafed  under  the  ignominious  ofifices  his  wife's 
narrow  nature  put  upon  him.  He  thought  of 
Washington  and  Luther  and  Cromwell,  and  other 
great  leaders,  and  tried  to  picture  them  in  the 
humiliating  performances  he  was  dragged  into. 
How  incongruous  to  picture  Washington  helping 
a  red-faced  woman  to  carry  a  stove,  and  Cromwell 
lugging  in  a  carpet,  and  Luther  emptying  wash- 
tubs!  It  made  him  groan  as  he  thought  of  him- 
self doing  all  these,  and  worse.  Why  was  his 
wife  so  narrow,  so  devoid  of  sympathy,  so  barren 
of  appreciation,  so  blind  to  great  things,  so  thick, 
headed  generally .-' 

To  such  a  degree  was  he  absorbed  in  these  sor- 
rowing reflections  while  pumping,  that  he  did  not 
perceive  that  the  pail  was  full,  and  that  the  over- 
flow was  threatening  to  cut  him  off  from  the 
house,  until  a  sharp  interrogation  from  his  wife  as 
to  whether  he  was  going  to  be  all  night  getting 
that  water  brought  him  back  to  earth  and  his 
errand.  With  a  sigh  he  took  up  the  pail  and  went 
into  the  house.  What  would  the  masses,  writhing 
under  the  harrow  of  a  corrupt  government,  say,  if 
they  saw  him  lugging  a  pail  of  water  .■'  Was 
that  their  idea  of  the  work  of  a  standard-bearer .-' 
Mr.  Cobleigh  shrank  from  the  answer. 


52  M/iS.    COBLE JGH'S  BOOM. 

There  was  a  look  of  reproach  in  his  face  as  he 
handed  her  the  pail.  It  was  designed  to  pierce 
to  her  very  heart,  and  melt  her  into  a  better  life. 
But  she  took  the  pail  without  trembling,  and  in 
a  voice  whose  firmness  was  remarkable,  she 
said,  — 

"  Why  did  n't  you  stay  out  there  all  night  and 
flood  the  yard  }  " 

"  Go  to  thunder  !  "  he  passionately  cried,  losing 
all  control  of  himself,  and  passing  from  the  repose 
of  resignation  to  a  condition  of  almost  ferocious 
activity.  "  You  ain't  got  any  more  feeling  than  a 
polar  bear.  It  ain't  enough  that  you  put  every 
mean  thing  on  me  to  humble  me  and  crush  me 
down,  but  you  've  got  to  add  abuse  on  top  of  it." 
He  strode  about  the  room  as  he  said  this,  and 
smote  his  fists  in  the  intensity  of  his  feeling. 

"Well,  I  declare!"  exclaimed  the  indignant 
woman,  "  if  things  ain't  come  to  a  pretty  pass  if 
I  can't  open  my  mouth  to  say  a  word  without 
your  going  off  in  a  tantrum.  You  know  you  was 
out  at  that  pump  long  enough  to  get  forty  pails 
of  water,  and  keep  me  waiting  here  when  my  legs 
are  so  tired  it  seems  as  if  they  would  drop  off, 
and  yet  if  I  go  to  speak  of  it  you  fire  up  like  a 
dog  with  a  sore  head.  It's  a  great  pity  if  it's 
got  so  I  can't  even  speak  without  having  my  head 
snapped  off.  But  all  you  think  I  'm  fit  for  is  to 
slave  here  all  day  long  and  drag  my  life  out  while 
you  are  galloping  over  town  with  a  lot  of  loafers, 
and  then,  when  you  condescend  to  come  home,  I 


MRS.    COB  LEIGH'S  BOOM.  53 

must  n't  say  a  word  to  you  but  that  I  'm  sent  to 
thunder !  " 

"  For  heaven's  sake,  keep  your  tongue  still, 
can't  you  ?  "  he  cried. 

"  Of  course  I  can,"  she  retorted  "  I  ain't  got 
any  right  to  speak.  All 's  I  'm  for  is  to  dig  and 
scrub  and  slave  from  morning  to  night." 

"Who's  said  you  couldn't  speak.-*"  he  indig- 
nantly demanded.  "  Just  because  I  won't  be 
abused  and  submit  to  your  injustice  you  try  to 
claim  that  you  can't  speak.  It 's  got  so  you  can't 
open  your  mouth  without  running  somebody 
down.*  Since  the  very  moment  you  heard  the 
masses  were  going  to  rise  up  in  their  might  against 
official  corruption,  and  was  going  to  select  me  to 
carry  a  standard,  you  have  tried  to  see  how  mean 
you  could  talk  about  everybody  in  it.  I  tried  to 
tell  you  what  had  been  done  and  what  was  going 
on,  but  you  've  got  no  more  idea  of  a  popular 
uprising  than  a  cat  has.  Corrupt  men  might 
steal  the  town  itself  for  all  you  'd  care,  and  as  for 
me,  what  do  you  care  if  a  grateful  people  wants  to 
elevate  me } " 

"  Elevate  fiddlesticks ! "  cried  the  miserable 
woman.  "What  do  you  suppose  Guhll  and  the 
rest  of  'em  care  about  you  or  the  people,  or  any- 
thing else  but  themselves  .''  Anybody  with  half 
an  eye  could  see  clear  through  'em  and  their 
tricks,  but   you  and  a   parcel    of   other  fools  are 

*  This  was  not  intended  by  Mr.  Cobleigh  as  a  reflection  on 
the  size  of  his  wife's  mouth. 


54  MRS.    COB  LEIGH'S  BOOAf. 

led  around  by  the  nose  like  so  many  dunces,  and 
you  '11  sit  in  some  bar-room  and  swallow  down  all 
their  gas  about  reform,  while  I  can  be  home  here 
slaving  my  life  out  to  have  a  place  decenter  than 
a  hog-pen,  and  when  you  step  into  the  house  and 
are  asked  to  do  a  single  thing,  you  fly  up  as  mad 
as  a  hornet;  but  if  Guhll  and  his  gang  wanted 
you  to  run  your  legs  off,  you  'd  do  it  without  a 
murmur.  I  would  n't  be  made  such  a  fool  of  if  I 
was  a  man,  I  know." 

All  the  time  Mrs.  Cobleigh  was  delivering  this 
eulogy  on  the  gods  of  the  reform  movement,  her 
husband  stood  transfixed,  without  the  power  to 
utter  a  word  in  protest  of  the  blasphemy.  When 
she  finished  he  darted  out  the  door  into  the  yard, 
and  it  was  not  till  he  had  got  well  inside  the 
wood-shed,  at  the  farther  end  of  it,  that  he  could 
trust  himself  to  cry  out,  — 

"  Well,  may  I  be  hornswoggled !  " 

After  that  he  smote  his  hands  together  a  num- 
ber of  times,  and  kicked  over  the  saw-buck,  and 
set  it  up  again,  until  he  got  quite  calm.  Then  he 
went  in  and  got  his  supper. 


MUS.   COBLEIGH'S  BOOM.  55 


IX. 

WHAT   THE    "  OUTS  "    DID. 

The  "  Outs  "  held  their  caucus  on  the  Friday 
night  preceding  election  day.  It  was  believed  the 
**  Outs "  would  adopt  the  reform  ticket.  This 
would  make  a  sweeping  victory,  although  it  was 
not  necessary  to  success.  The  fact  was,  the  masses 
were  so  fully  aroused  by  the  years  of  oppression 
from  the  party  wire-pullers  that  victory  was  sure 
any  way.  Still,  it  would  be  pleasant  to  have  their 
ticket  adopted  by  a  class  the  makers  of  the  ticket 
despised.  So  weak  is  the  human  side  of  our 
nature. 

The  "  Outs  "  had  a  large  attendance  upon  their 
caucus,  accompanied  by  an  enthusiasm  that  was 
new  and  a  hopefulness  that  had  not  been  seen  in 
their  gatherings  for  some  time.  The  Hon.  Mr. 
Guhll  was  present,  and,  strange  as  it  may  appear 
in  view  of  the  activity  he  had  shown  in  the  move- 
ment to  free  the  borough  government  from  par- 
tisan control,  was  chosen  chairman  of  the  meeting. 
Messrs.  D'Coy,  Stoohl,  and  Gagg  were  also  pres- 
ent. They  were  undoubtedly  anxious  to  have  the 
caucus  adopt  their  ticket. 


56  MRS.    COBLEIGH'S  BOOM. 

There  was  live  work  in  the  gathering  for  a  half- 
hour  or  so,  and  then  the  reform  ticket,  with  three 
exceptions,  was  adopted  as  the  ticket  of  the 
"  Outs "  in  the  coming  election.  Messrs.  Cob- 
leigh,  Richardson,  and  Willoughby,  of  the  reform 
ticket,  were  left  off,  and  Messrs.  Jangs,  Nangs,  and 
Rangs  taken  in  their  place. 

Mr.  Cobleigh  was  not  seriously  grieved  by  the 
exception  made  of  himself  by  the  "Outs."  The 
more  he  reflected  upon  it,  the  better  he  was 
pleased.  His  election  was  sure  any  way,  because 
of  the  intense  desire  for  reform  among  the  masses, 
and  so  he  could  afford  to  do  without  the  support 
of  the  "  Outs,"  while  being  thrown  overboard  by 
a  partisan  caucus  was  an  act  of  martyrdom  which 
had  its  attractions  and  its  advantages. 

The  Hon.  Mr.  Guhll,  and  Messrs.  D'Coy,  Gagg, 
and  Stoohl  were  inclined  to  be  grieved  at  the 
action  of  the  "Outs"  in  throwing  out  Messrs. 
Cobleigh,  Willoughby,  and  Richardson.  If  the 
"Outs"  were  going  to  take  any  of  the  ticket, 
they  argued,  why  not  take  the  whole  of  it }  This 
is  what  they  could  not  understand,  but  Mr.  Cob- 
leigh's  firm  faith  in  the  masses  to  right  all  wrong 
tended  much  to  reconcile  them,  and  they  went  into 
the  work  with  the  old  fervor.  As  for  Mr.  Cob- 
leigh and  the  other  reformers,  they  redoubled 
their  exertions,  and  were  full  of  zeal  that  con- 
sumed. 

It  soon  coming  to  his  ears  that  a  serenade  was 
to  be  given  him  on  election  night,  the  ambition  to 


MRS.   COB  LEIGH'S  BOOM.  S7 

make  a  dazzling  oratorical  flight  was  again  aroused, 
and  he  at  once  set  about  to  prepare  a  suitable  re- 
sponse. By  using  the  parts  saved  from  the  wreck 
of  the  former  effort,  with  a  little  additional  that 
was  fresh  and  appropriate,  he  succeeded  in  pro- 
ducing something  calculated  to  electrify  his  fellow- 
citizens  while  it  adorned  himself. 

He  firmly  resolved  to  have  f/izs  speech  so  firmly 
imbedded  in  the  end  of  his  tongue  as  to  preclude 
the  possibility  of  its  getting  away  without  his  con- 
sent, and  with  this  object  he  impressed  his  heir 
into  the  service  as  a  sort  of  combined  critic  and 
prompter,  who  held  the  manuscript,  commented 
upon  the  points,  lifted  him  over  the  obstructions, 
and  enjoyed  the  performance  amazingly.  It  was 
a  beautiful  spectacle  thus  presented  by  the  father 
and  son.  It  would  have  nourished  the  observer 
to  have  seen  the  two  in  an  upper  room  by  them- 
selves, to  have  watched  the  glow  of  satisfaction  on 
the  father's  face,  as  he  progressed  through  the  easy 
passages,  change  to  one  of  solicitude  as  he  struck 
the  more  difficult  parts.  The  color  of  excitement 
flaming  his  countenance,  as  he  mentally  clutched 
space  in  a  desperate  endeavor  to  get  hold  of  the 
forward  end  of  the  next  sentence,  formed  a 
marked  and  interesting  contrast  to  the  expression 
of  calm  waiting  on  the  face  of  the  copy-holder. 

A  no  less  pleasing  feature  of  the  little  scene 
was  the  power  of  self-control  Mr.  Cobleigh  exer- 
cised. There  were  passages  of  great  power  into 
which  he  wanted  to  launch  himself  with  thunder- 


5  8  AfRS.    COB  LEIGH'S  BOOM. 

ing  effect,  but  he  knew  if  he  did  it  would  reveal 
his  presence  in  the  house  to  his  wife,  and  she 
would  immediately  swoop  down  on  him  to  per- 
form some  menial  act.  So  he  held  himself  in, 
and  was  nearly  strangled  thereby. 


X. 

THE    UPRISING    OF    THE    MASSES. 

The  election  took  place  on  Monday.  Mr.  Cob- 
leigh  spoke  of  it  with  fervor,  as  "  the  uprising  of 
the  masses  to  hurl  corruption  down."  It  was  an 
eventful  day  to  him,  —  a  day  of  intense  nervous 
excitement.  He  did  not  even  go  home  to  dinner. 
He  said  he  had  n't  the  time,  but  the  truth  was 
there  was  a  lurking  fear  in  his  breast  that  if  Mrs. 
Cobleio;h  g-ot  hold  of  him  she  would  find  so  much 
for  him  to  do  that  he  could  n't  get  back  again. 
He  contented  himself  with  an  oyster  stew  at  a 
restaurant,  and  while  it  was  cooling,  he  refreshed 
his  memory  with  glances  at  the  copy  of  his  speech 
in  response  to  the  serenade. 

The  polls  were  open  for  four  hours.  The  "  Ins  " 
and  the  "  Outs  "  and  the  reformers  worked  hard. 
Teams  w^ere  run,  tickets  were  urged,  the  back- 
sliders looked  up,  and  everybody  got  in  every- 
body's way  and  tried  to  climb  over  each  other,  and 
did  many  other  things  to  advance  the  interests  of 
their  respective  ambitions. 


MRS.    COBLEIGfPS  BOOM.  59 

Mr.  Cobleigh  was  in  a  whirl.  He  peddled  tick- 
ets, and  went  after  voters,  and  looked  after  this 
and  that,  and  fought  against  a  split  ticket,  which 
was  a  clever  imitation  of  the  reform  ticket,  and 
had  the  names  of  Jangs,  Nangs,  and  Rangs  in- 
serted in  the  place  of  those  of  Cobleigh,  Richard- 
son, and  VVilloughby.  Toward  the  close  of  the 
time  allotted  for  voting,  Mr.  Cobleigh  got  so  ner- 
vous he  could  not  stay  near  the  polls,  and  retreated 
to  the  restaurant,  leaving  Master  Cobleigh  to  as- 
certain and  bring  him  the  result. 

There  he  remained,  drinking  innumerable  cups 
of  coffee  as  a  motive  for  staying,  until  the  news 
came. 

It  was  an  electric  shock  to  him. 

The  reform  ticket,  as  adopted  by  the  "  Oiits," 
was  victorious,  Jangs,  Nangs,  and  Rangs  barely 
getting  an  election,  but  getting  it  just  the  same. 
Mr.  Cobleigh  could  not  credit  the  intelligence,  but 
the  truth,  with  its  crushing  load  of  humiliation, 
was  finally  realized.  The  "Outs"  saved  them- 
selves by  adopting  the  reform  ticket,  and  Jangs, 
Nangs,  and  Rangs  were  squeezed  in  on  the  split 
tickets.  The  masses  that  uprose  polled  one  hun- 
dred and  twenty-five  "  square  "  votes,  and  seventy- 
five  "splits,"  which  had  been  imposed  upon  their 
guileless  nature  by  political  wolves  in  the  pelts  of 
reformed  sheep. 

Mr.  Cobleigh  had  received  one  hundred  and 
twenty-five  votes,  out  of  a  poll  of  eleven  hundred ! 
It  made  the  standard-bearer  in  the  reform  move- 


6o'  MRS.    COB  LEIGH'S  BOOM. 

ment  very,  very  sick.  He  struck  out  for  home  at 
once.  He  had  no  object  in  view  only  to  get  out 
of  sight  of  everybody,  especially  of   the  masses. 

He  was  almost  exhausted  when  he  got  there, 
and  wholly  crazed.  His  wife  saw  him  as  he  came, 
and  with  the  quick  instinct  of  her  sex  saw  at  once 
the  deplorable  change  in  his  appearance. 

"What's  the  matter  with  you  nowf'  she  de- 
manded, with  the  promptness  of  aroused  sympathy. 

He  gasped  out  the  calamitous  result  of  the  elec- 
tion. 

"What  did  I  tell  you  all  along.?"  she  said. 
"I  knew  they  was  fooling  you  all  the  time  with 
their  gas  about  reform,  and  the  uprising  of  the 
masses  —  " 

"Cuss  the  masses!"  moaned  their  standard- 
bearer. 

"Well,  I'm  glad  it's  over,"  she  added,  sympa- 
thetically, "  and  I  hope  you  have  now  got  through 
making  a  fool  of  yourself,  and  will  act  as  you 
oughter.  Squat  down  and  get  your  supper  into 
you  as  quick  as  you  can,  for  I  want  you  to  put  up 
the  parlor  curtains,  so  I  can  get  the  rooms  to 
rights  before  bedtime.  You  've  been  off  all  day 
doing  nothing,  and  now  I  guess  it  won't  hurt  you 
to  help  me  a  little." 

And  thus  the  defeated  standard-bearer  in  the 
great  reform  movement  sank  to  rest  m  the  sym- 
pathetic bosom  of  his  family. 


THE  POWER   OF  MUSIC.  6 1 


THE   POWER   OF   MUSIC. 

We  were  in  Morris's  music  store  for  a  few  mo- 
ments, the  other  afternoon.  Young  Mr.  Dauchy, 
who  is  quite  a  musician,  wanted  us  to  hear  an 
adaptation  from  the  "  Chimes  of  Normandy," 
which  he  thought  was  a  very  neat  thing.  We 
love  music ;  we  become  absorbed  in  it,  and  satu- 
rated with  it.  It  lifts  us  above  the  world,  and 
the  things  of  time,  and  leaves  us  floating  noise- 
lessly through  the  atmosphere  of  fond  hopes  and 
sweet  memories.  We  were  glad  when  young  Mr. 
Dauchy  proposed  to  play  this  piece. 

Mr,  Blowah  was  in  the  store  at  the  time.  He 
was  telling  us  of  a  hunting  expedition  the  day 
before,  in  which  he  had  killed  three  birds  in  one 
shot,  when  the  music  commenced.  He  paused 
then.  We  turned  our  full  attention  to  the  instru- 
ment. The  player  dashed  into  the  overture.  The 
movement  was  excellent,  if  not  brilliant.  We  con- 
centrated every  thought  upon  it.  Mr.  Blowah 
said,  — 

"  You  are  fond  of  music  .''  " 

We  briefly  said,  "  Yes." 

"  So  'm  I.  There  ain't  nobody  fonder  of  music 
than  I  am.  I  ain't  any  player  myself,  but  I  can 
tell  when  a  piece  is  played  right  as  well  as  any 
of  'em.     They  can't  fool  me  on  music." 

There  was   a    spirited  dash  in  the  overture  at 


62  THE   rOWFR   OF  MUSIC. 

this  juncture.  We  were  charmed.  Mr.'  Blowah 
said,  — 

"  Did  you  ever  hear  old  Gibbs,  of  Slawson,  play 
a  violin  .■*  " 

We  had  not  heard  Gibbs.  In  a  tone  of  as  little 
interest  as  was  possible,  we  said,  "  No." 

"  Is  that  so .''  Why,  I  thought  everybody  had 
heard  him.  He  can  more  than  shake  a  bow.  He 
ain't  got  no  equal  in  these  parts,  you  bet.  I  wish 
you  could  hear  him,  you  're  so  fond  of  music.  If 
you  could  hear  him  play  the  '  Blue  Danube,'  you 
would  be  so  taken  up  with  it  that  you  could  n't 
speak  a  word." 

Mr.  Blowah  paused  about  eight  seconds,  in 
which  space  the  "Chimes"  floated  sweetly,  when 
he  again  observed,  — 

"  That 's  pretty  good  playing,  ain't  it .''" 

"Yes,"  very  briefly. 

"  I  've  got  a  capital  ear  for  music,"  he  continued. 
"  I  can  tell  in  a  minute  when  a  piece  is  played 
right.  There  's  a  chap  up  in  New  Milford  who 
has  got  a  piano  that 's  one  of  the  best  strung  I 
ever  saw.  He  can  more  than  handle  it,  too.  I 
can't  think  of  his  name.     Perhaps  you  know  him." 

So  perfectly  delicious  was  the  strain  now  given, 
that  we  could  not  speak.  We  could  only  shake 
our  head  slowly. 

"No.''  Well,  that 's  odd.  It's  curious  I  can't 
think  of  his  name.  It 's  Morgan,  or  Harrigan,  or 
something  like  that.  There  's  a.  g-an  in  it,  anyway. 
It  does  beat  all  that  I  can't  think  of  that  name. 


THE  POWER   OF  MUSIC.  63 

It 's  just  as  familiar  to  me  as  yours.  I  wish  you  'd 
go  up  there  some  day  and  hear  him  play.  He 
can  play  the  '  Devil's  Hornpipe '  and  '  Home, 
Sweet  Home'  at  the  same  time.  He  's  a  perfect 
wonder  on  the  piano.  Oh,  you  must  go  and  hear 
him,  if  you  want  to  know  what  music  is.  I  could 
sit  and  hear  him  all  day  without  breathing." 

Grandly  beautiful  came  the  air,  as  he  ceased. 
Our  perturbed  spirit  fell  into  the  sweet  harmony 
and  glided  — 

"Did  you  ever  hear  Thomas's  orchestra.'*"  in- 
quired Mr.  Blowah. 

A  nod  of  the  head,  half  exhausted  at  that,  was 
all  the  response  we  could  make. 

"  How  'd  you  like  him  .-'  " 

With  a  powerful  wrench  we  tore  ourselves 
from  the  delicious  air  long  enough  to  say,  "  Very 
much." 

"  He  's  the  boy  to  handle  music,  ain't  he .-'  I 
heard  him  in  New  York  when  he  first  began  his 
concerts.  I  always  go  to  hear  the  big  guns.  If 
there  's  one  thing  I  like  it  's  good  music.  I  could 
hear  good  music  forever,  I  believe.  It  takes  right 
hold  of  me,  an'  I  'm  all  eaten  up  with  it." 

He  paused  to  relight  his  cigar.  A  bit  of  the 
"  Chimes  "  like  a  sound  of  silver  bells  was  being 
given.  The  execution  was  very  fine.  We  rushed 
to  embrace  it. 

Mr.  Blowah  said,  — 

"The  next  time  you  go  to  the  city  let  me  know. 
I   should  like  to  take  you  around  to  a  friend  of 


64  A  DIAGNOSIS  OF  MOVING. 

mine  in  Fourteenth  Street.  He  has  got  a  two- 
thousand-dollar  piano,  and  they  say  it 's  the  best 
toned  instrument  in  New  York.  And  he  can 
more  'n  handle  it.  He 's  played  ever  since  he 
was  eight  years  old,  and  takes  to  music  as  natural 
as  a  duck  to  water.  You  'd  enjoy  hearing, him  play, 
I  can  tell  you,  and  I  'd  like  to  go  there  with  you. 
What  's  the  matter  .''     Ain't  ^'ou  feeling  well .''  " 

Before  we  could  make  any  reply  to  this  unex- 
pected interrogation  the  "  Chimes  "  ceased. 

"  You  move  around  so  restless,  and  look  so 
white  in  the  face."  said  Mr.  Blowah,  eying  us 
anxiously,  "  that  I  thought  you  might  be  sick. 
You  ought  to  get  out  more  where  you  can  hear 
music,  you  're  so  fond  of  it.     It  will  do  you  good." 

We  gratefully  thanked  him  for  his  kind  interest, 
and  crawled  back  to  the  office. 


A  DIAGNOSIS   OF  MOVING. 

There  appears  to  be  three  stages  to  a  moving. 
In  this  respect  it  is  something  like  a  disease.  First 
there  are  the  symptoms,  then  follows  the  attack, 
and  after  that  comes  the  convalescence. 

The  symptoms  are  the  evidence  of  the  calamity 
which  in  moving  are  known  as  "packing."  There 
is  no  particular  time  set  to  "pack  up."  It  depends 
on  the  amount  of  nervous  force  possessed  by  the 


A   DIAGNOSIS  OF  MOVING.  6$ 

woman  of  the  house.  The  more  nervous  she  is  the 
earlier  the  packing  commences,  and  the  more 
thorough  it  is. 

About  two  weeks  before  you  move  you  notice  a 
shrinking  in  the  goblets.  The  dozen  complete 
ones  have  shrunk  down  to  a  single  cracked  mem- 
ber of  the  order,  and  you  feed  your  guest  lemon- 
ade from  a  teacup,  while  you  modestly  imbibe 
yours  from  the  dipper.  The  whole  goblets  are 
packed  up. 

Pretty  soon  the  spoons  melt  away,  leaving  but 
one  companion  to  do  the  stirring  for  the  entire 
family,  with  what  awkward  assistance  a  knife -han- 
dle will  render. 

Then  follow  the  surplus  cups.  They  go  as 
effectually  as  if  they  had  been  driven  into  the 
earth  by  a  trip-hammer,  and  the  desolation  they 
leave  behind  is  great  indeed. 

As  time  advances  the  symptoms  grow  more  pro- 
nounced, and  just  preceding  the  breaking  out  of 
the  disease  itself  they  are  quite  violent. 

The  extra  plates  follow  the  extra  cups,  and  the 
knives  and  forks  ditto.  Then  such  trifles  as  the 
napkins  and  salt-cellars  go  in  a  lump,  and  when  the 
last  meal  is  served,  with  a  knuckle  of  ham  which 
there  is  no  time  to  dust,  and  bread  which  there  is 
no  need  to  butter,  the  disease  has  taken  a  good 
square  hold,  and  can  safely  be  depended  upon  to 
have  its  run. 

At  this  juncture  one  home  is  broken  into  two 
homes,  and  a  man  with  so  much  wealth  is  apt  to 

5 


66  A   DIAGNOSIS  OF  MOVING. 

lose  his  head.  After  losing  his  head  he  begins  to 
lose  his  hide.  About  the  same  time  the  woman 
loses  her  reckoning.  Then  the  carman,  who  is  an 
hour  and  a  half  late,  comes  in  and  completes  the 
picture. 

The  disease  rarely  runs  less  than  twenty-four 
hours.     But  it  don't  lose  a  minute  of  the  time. 

As  in  packing  up,  so  in  putting  down,  the  pre- 
vailing idea  is  to  get  everything  somewhere,  and 
to  get  it  there  in  the  most  direct  way  possible. 
This  explains  why  the  stove-lifter  is  put  in  the 
bureau  drawer,  and  the  picture  nails  in  the  tub 
with  the  tinware. 

In  the  new  home  the  kitchen  stove  is  left  in  the 
hall.  The  bedding  is  piled  up  on  the  pictures  in 
the  parlor.  The  best  bedstead  is  placed  in  the  din 
ing-room,  and  the  extension  table  in  the  sitting- 
room,  and  between  the  four  apartments  are  barriers 
of  carpets,  knick-knacks,  boxes,  and  the  like. 

At  night  the  carman  composedly  drives  off,  with 
a  parting  look  at  you,  and  the  debris  that  surrounds 
you,  that  plainly  says,  "  I  guess  I  've  fixed j/(?/^." 

We  have  come  to  the  belief  that  a  carman  never 
moved  his  own  family. 

Then  follows  the  convalescence.  The  haste 
with  which  a  man  puts  things  anywhere  just  to 
get  them  out  of  the  way  when  moving,  is  repented 
of  in  the  leisure  of  the  unpacking  and  putting  to 
rights.  The  recovery  from  the  shock  of  the  dis- 
ease  is  necessarily  slow.  It  requires  days.  This 
is  caused  by  the  embarrassment  of  riches  which  a 


A  DIAGNOSIS  OF  MOVING.  6/ 

man  finds  himself  surrounded  with.  He  is  aston- 
ished at  the  number  and  variety  of  articles  that 
presumably  belong  to  him,  and  which  there  is  no 
time  nor  opportunity  to  shoulder  off  on  some  other 
family.     He  almost  curses  his  prosperity. 

He  looks  over  his  possessions  and  then  over  the 
amount  of  room  he  has  got,  and  wonders  where  on 
earth  he  is  going  to  store  his  wealth.  The  light 
his  wife  throws  on  to  the  subject  is  so  brilliant 
that  it  dazzles  and  confuses  rather  than  clears. 

It  frequently  happens  —  so  frequently,  in  fact, 
that  it  never  occurs  any  other  way  —  that  the  two 
vary  in  their  preference  for  a  place  to  begin  work, 
and  so  mutable  are  things  earthly  that  the  two 
generally  reverse  the  order  of  procedure,  the  man 
bringing  up  in  the  woman's  position  and  she  fall- 
ing naturally  into  his. 

No  one  thing  is  persisted  in.  When  a  carpet  is 
partly  down  is  the  time  to  begin  to  put  up  the 
bed.  And  that  should  be  left  half  finished  to  give 
one  of  the  stoves  a  start.  This  gives  time  for 
reflection,  and  reflection  shows  that  the  base-boards 
of  the  half-carpeted  room  are  not  clean,  and  the 
carpet  should  not  go  down  until  they  are.  Every- 
body will  admit  that  it  is  easier  to  take  up  the  half 
of  a  carpet  than  the  whole  of  it. 

Moving  is  like  tumbling  into  a  ditch  down  one 
bank  and  crawling  out  again  up  the  other  bank. 
We  go  from  order  into  chaos,  and  from  chaos  we 
gradually  work,  stage  by  stage,  back  to  order 
again,  but  coming  out  on  the  opposite  side. 


68  A  DIAGNOSIS  OF  MOVING. 

Any  defects  in  packing  up  show  up  in  a  glaring 
light  in  the  unpacking.  Fortunately,  people  who 
move  are  married,  and  so  have  some  one  always 
convenient  to  lay  the  blame  on.  Otherwise,  mov- 
ing would  be  simply  unendurable. 

About  the  first  thing  to  be  done  in  the  new 
house  on  the  first  night  is  to  get  a  bed  up.  The 
next  thing  is  to  climb  over  a  variety  of  articles 
and  get  into  it.  The  next  day  the  bed  can  be 
taken  down  so  that  the  carpet  may  be  laid. 

Once  in  a  while  a  man  thinks  he  will  surprise 
and  delight  his  wife  by  doing  something  unex- 
pected for  her.  So  while  she  is  getting  to  rights 
at  one  end  of  the  house  he  puts  down  a  carpet  all 
alone  by  himself  at  the  other  end,  and  gets  nearly 
all  the  furniture  belonging  to  the  room  in  its 
place  before  she  discovers  what  he  is  doing,  and 
also  that  he  has  left  the  papers  from  under  the 
carpet.  She  admires  his  motive,  of  course,  but 
is  so  conservative  in  the  expression  of  her  grati- 
tude that  much  of  its  significance  is  lost. 

But  the  convalescence  proceeds.  The  knuckle 
of  ham  comes  out  again,  and  is  finished.  The 
caster  is  found.  The  butter-dish  appears,  and  the 
butter  itself  is  rescued  from  its  perilous  surround- 
ings. The  next  day  the  teacups  begin  to  show 
themselves,  and  before  night  most  of  the  knives 
and  forks  have  got  around.  On  the  third  day  the 
napkins  and  salt-cellars,  with  two  or  three  spoons, 
fall  into  the  line,  and  on  the  fourth  day  these  are 
joined  by  the  goblets  and  the  rest  of  the  spoonSc 


THE  PRACTICAL  SIDE   OF  LOVE.  69 

By  the  time  the  week  is  out  most  of  the  table 
articles  have  put  in  an  appearance,  and  shortly 
after  the  kitchen  stove  begins  to  draw,  and  now 
matters  progress  without  difficulty,  and  the  con- 
valescence ends  in  restored  health. 


THE   PRACTICAL    SIDE   OF   LOVE. 

For  a  year  or  more  the  two  had  "kept  com- 
pany." He  was  a  young  man  with  nothing  to 
depend  upon  but  his  two  arms  at  his  trade.  She 
was  the  daughter  of  poor,  hard-working  parents, 
pretty  well  along  in  life  at  that.  She  was  a  very 
young  and  quite  fair  girl,  whose  time  was  devoted 
to  helping  her  aged  mother  in  the  cares  of  the 
home.  The  three  lived  happily  and  comfortably 
together,  the  man's  earnings  being  just  sufficient 
to  keep  them  in  food  and  clothes,  and  a  roof  over 
their  head.  When  Cyrille's  lover  came,  the  old 
folks  fell  to  planning  for  the  future.  In  the  per- 
spective was  a  home  provided  with  a  stalwart  son, 
and  kept  beautiful  by  an  earnest,  faithful  daughter. 
At  its  front  was  a  porch  upon  which  the  sunlight 
ever  rested.  Under  the  porch  they  themselves 
sat  all  through  the  summer  day,  while  about  their 
feet  played  the  happy  grandchildren. 

Cyrille  herself  worked  cheerily  and  hopefully 
about    the   house,    her   glad  songs  making  music 


70  THE  PRACTICAL  SIDE  OF  LOVE. 

through  all  the  rooms,  and  charming  the  birds 
that  swayed  to  and  fro  on  the  maple  outside  the 
door,  and  the  bees  that  gathered  the  sweets  from 
the  blossoms  under  the  window.  So  happy  was 
Cyrille  in  her  love,  her  hope,  her  dream  !  Every 
duty  was  so  light,  every  effort  so  easy  ;  and  all 
out  doors,  the  trees,  the  flowers,  the  sunlight,  were 
so  much  more- beautiful  than  they  had  ever  been 
before. 

Cyrille's  lover  worked  steadily  at  the  factory,  as 
full  of  hope  as  was  the  girl  he  was  to  marry.  It 
was  hard  work  and  long  hours,  but  John  did  not 
much  mind  them,  because  he  was  always  thinking 
of  what  they  were  leading  up  to,  and  that  itself 
was  so  much  better  than  anything  else  on  earth 
that  it  was  well  worth  double  the  work  and  double 
the  hours,  were  it  possible  to  compass  them.  Not 
a  very  handsome  man,  nor  a  particularly  brilliant 
man,  was  John,  but  he  made  up  in  an  earnest  will- 
ingness what  he  lacked  in  looks  and  mental  devel- 
opment. More  than  made  it  up,  thought  the  old 
people,  while  Cyrille  never  once  thought  but  that 
John  was  just  as  handsome  and  full  as  brilliant  as 
any  man  who  walked  the  earth  ;  so  tenderly  char- 
itable is  love,  so  hopeful  of  its  own. 

But  there  came  a  time  when  work  at  his  factory 
grew  slack.  The  hours  became  less  and  the  pay 
less.  Week  after  week  this  shortening  continued, 
and  John's  heart  grew  faint.  But  Cyrille  did  not 
lose  her  courage,  or,  if  she  did,  no  one  knew  it. 
She  sang  just  the  same,   and  her  face,   when  it 


THE  PRACTICAL  SIDE  OF  LOVE.  71 

appeared,  was  just  as  sunny  and  hopeful.  To  John 
she  was  the  same  cheerful,  happy  body  as  before. 
The  more  discouraged  he  grew  the  more  hopeful 
she  became,  and  the  cloud  could  not  exist  where 
such  a  steady  flow  of  sunshine  was  bearing  upon 
it,  and  so  with  her  John  would  take  heart  despite 
himself. 

Still  the  factory  grew  quieter  and  quieter,  and 
one  day  it  became  very  still,  —  the  stillness  of  one 
that  was  dead.  In  vain  John  sought  work  else- 
where. There  was  no  room  for  him.  He  was 
obliged  to  give  up  his  boarding-place,  and  having 
nowhere  else  to  go,  he  went  to  live  with  Cyrille's 
people.  It  was  a  happy  day  for  Cyrille.  Every 
day  she  had  her  lover  with  her,  and  when  the 
night  came  they  were  not  far  separated,  because 
the  one  roof  sheltered  them.  No  cloud  chilled 
her  dear  heart.  He  was  with  her,  and  she  was 
satisfied. 

But  John  was  ill  at  ease.  Daily  he  sought  work 
here,  there,  but  no  work  came.  The  days  melted 
into  weeks,  and  the  weeks  made  months.  Three 
months  had  passed.  Cyrille  and  her  mother  went 
away  to  spend  the  afternoon  with  a  friend.  Shortly 
before  the  hour  for  tea  they  returned,  and  Cyrille 
found  a  note  on  the  stand  in  her  room,  as  she  went 
there  to  remove  her  hat  and  cape.  It  was  directed 
in  pencil,  on  the  outside,  to  "  Cyrille,"  in  John's 
well-known  hand. 

A  chill  passed  over  the  girl  as  she  picked  it  up. 
There  was  a  premonition   of  a  great  trouble   in 


72  THE  PRACTICAL  SIDE   OF  LOVE. 

its  mysterious  appearance.  She  did  not  look  for 
a  note.  She  expected  to  find  him  at  home,  or  if 
not  there,  that  he  would  soon  come.  There  was 
no  reason  for  a  note  at  all  unless  he  was  going 
away  unexpectedly,  or  was  going  to  —  She  shiv- 
ered all  over  at  the  dreadful  thought.  It  was  full 
a  moment  before  she  could  open  the  paper  to  read 
its  contents.  Her  fingers  trembled  and  her  face 
was  colorless.  Then  she  opened  it.  The  contents 
were  very  brief.     They  said  :  — 

Dear  Friend,  —  I  'm  sorry  for  what  I  'm  going  to  do, 
but  I  can't  help  myself.  I  am  out  of  work,  and  can't  see 
any  prospect  of  getting  it,  and  I  have  been  all  over,  and  it 
is  no  good.  There  's  no  chance  for  me  to  do  anything,  and 
so  there  's  no  sight  for  our  getting  married,  and  so  I  have 
concluded  to  make  a  change.  A  woman  what  keeps  a 
boarding-house  wants  me  to  marry  her,  and  we  will  be 
married  to-night.  She  's  got  a  good  business,  nearly  twenty 
boarders,  and  she  expects  more.  Hoping  you  will  always  be 
happy,  I  sign  myself. 

Yours  forever, 

John. 

Cyrille's  venerable  father  immediately  brought 
suit  against  John  for  three  months'  board,  in  the 
hope  to  save  something  from  the  wreck. 

In  that  hope  we  join. 


GETTING  HER  HAT.  73 


GETTING   HER   HAT. 


The  house-cleaning  being  over  with,  the  female 
mind  has  taken  a  full  grasp  of  the  millinery  prob- 
lem. It  is  a  very  difficult  matter  to  settle,  this 
getting  a  covering  for  the  female  head.  Days  are 
devoted  to  it.  Hours  of  anxious  thought  are  given 
up  to  it.  There  are  so  many  things  to  consider  in 
connection  with  it,  —  things  that  men  do  not  un- 
derstand, and  consequently  can  have  no  sympa- 
thy with. 

Her  comiDlexion  is  one  thing.  Is  the  prevailing 
color  suitable  to  it }  If  not,  how  can  a  compro- 
mise with  fashion  be  made,  so  that  the  sensi- 
bility of  the  public  (which  is  other  women)  shall 
not  be  shocked  .-*  The  shape  of  her  face  is  another 
important  item.  Is  the  prevailing  form  of  hat 
adapted  to  it .''  If  not,  what  style  that  will  do 
comes  the  nearest  to  the  leading  style }  These 
are  very  weighty  matters,  and  must  be  carefully 
weighed  before  action  is  taken. 

Still  another  important  subject  is  the  making 
over  of  last  season's  hat.  What  trimmings  can  be 
used  that  have  been  used  before .''  Not  alone  taste, 
but  economy  as  well,  is  concerned  here.  In  no 
place  does  the  economy  of  women  show  out  as  in 
the  working  over  of  an  old  hat  into  a  new  one. 
Of  course  it  requires  time,  and  close  thought,  and 
shrewd  judgment,  and  keen  management,  but  sue- 


74  GETTING  HER  HAT. 

cess  is  sure  to  follow,  and  the  pride  she  takes  in 
exhibiting  the  triumph  of  her  genius,  and  compar- 
ing it  with  the  new  hat  of  a  neighbor  who  never 
has  any  tact  in  making  over  and  saving,  is  a  gen- 
uine pleasure,  and  pays  for  all  the  trouble,  to  say 
nothing  of  the  money  saved.  We  have  known  a 
hat  thus  made,  costing  about  four  dollars,  to  look 
fully  as  good  as  a  four-dollar  hat  which  was  of  new 
material  throughout. 

Then  there  is  still  another  matter  that  must  not 
be  lost  sight  of.  This  is  the  hat  the  woman  next 
door  is  going  to  have.  Her  hat  must  n't  conflict 
with  this  hat.  There  is  considerable  anxiety  in- 
volved. She  must  know  what  kind  of  a  hat  that 
woman  is  going  to  have  before  she  can  get  her 
own.  Her  hat  must  n't  be  like  it.  She  can't  copy 
after  her.     She  must  be  first,  or  nothing  at  all. 

We  have  come  to  believe  that  the  woman  next 
door,  or  any  other  woman  in  the  neighborhood, 
never  get  ahead  in  any  particular,  because  their 
hats  are  so  faulty. 

Why  are  they  so  unfortunate  in  their  taste  ? 
Why  will  the  broad-faced  woman  wear  a  narrow 
brim }  And  why  does  the  thin-faced  woman  affect 
the  very  broadest  brim  }  And  why  does  the  very 
florid-faced  lady  take  on  so  conspicuous  a  hat  ? 
And  why  will  the  pale  woman  go  to  such  lengths 
in  color,  and  the  dark-faced  woman  plunge  into 
the  brightest  yellow.'* 

Then,  again,  there  is  the  struggle  at  the  milli- 
ner's.   We  are  not  so  unsallant  as  to  claim  a  woman 


A   FEMALE  BASE-BALL    CLUB.  75 

doesn't  make  up  her  mind  as  to  what  sort  of  hat 
she  will  wear  before  she  goes  after  it.  She  knows 
what  she  wants,  of  course,  but  there  is  a  delirious 
pleasure  in  trying  on  all  the  hats  in  the  shop. 
And  she  does  it  so  neatly,  and  comments  so  nat- 
urally on  the  imperfections  or  inconsistencies  of 
the  wear,  that  one  would  think  she  was  really  try- 
ing to  be  suited  with  each  effort.  Such  observa- 
tions as  the  following  are  but  samples  of  the  many 
that  greet  the  milliner :  "  O,  I  never  could  wear 
that!"  "There,  do  you  think  that's  becoming.''" 
"If  it  was  n't  for  the  frizzes,  I  could  wear  a  hat  set 
back."  "It  turns  up  too  much  at  the  side."  ''He 
don't  like  a  hat  over  my  face."  "  My  face  is  too 
broad  for  me  to  wear  a  hat  ojf  my  face."  Unless 
the  woman  is  at  her  own  milliner's,  the  following 
remark  invariably  winds  up  all  the  others :  — 

"  If  I  cannot  find  anything  to  suit  me  better,  I 
will  come  back." 

She  always  finds  it. 


A   FEMALE  BASE-BALL  CLUB. 

The  only  attempt  on  record  of  Danbury  trying 
to  organize  a  female  base-ball  club  occurred  last 
week.  It  was  a  rather  incipient  affair,  but  it 
demonstrated  everything  necessary,  and  in  that 
particular  answered  every  purpose.     The  idea  was 


7^  A  FEMALE  BASE- BALL   CLUB. 

cogitated  and  carried  out  by  six  young  ladies.  It 
was  merely  designed  for  an  experiment  on  which 
to  base  future  action.  The  young  ladies  were  at 
the  house  of  one  of  their  number  when  the  subject 
was  brought  up.  The  premises  are  capacious,  and 
include  quite  a  piece  of  turf,  hidden  from  the  street 
by  several  drooping,  luxuriant,  old-fashioned  apple- 
trees.  The  young  lady  of  the  house  has  a  brother 
who  is  fond  of  base-ball,  and  has  the  necessary 
machinery  for  a  game.  This  was  taken  out  on  the 
turf  under  the  trees.  The  ladies  assembled,  and 
divided  themselves  into  two  nines  of  three  each. 
The  first  three  took  the  bat,  and  the  second  three 
went  to  the  bases,  one  as  catcher,  one  as  pitcher, 
and  the  other  as  chaser,  or,  more  technically, 
fielder.  The  pitcher  was  a  lively  brunette,  with 
eyes  full  of  dead  earnestness.  The  catcher  and 
batter  were  blondes,  with  faces  aflame  with  expecta- 
tion. The  pitcher  took  the  ball,  braced  herself, 
put  her  arm  straight  out  from  her  shoulder,  then 
moved  it  around  to  her  back  without  modifying  in 
the  least  its  delightful  frigidity,  and  then  threw  it. 
The  batter  did  not  catch  it.  This  was  owing  to 
the  pitcher  looking  directly  at  the  batter  when  she 
aimed  it.  The  fielder  got  a  long  pole  and  soon 
succeeded  in  poking  the  ball  from  an  apple-tree 
back  of  the  pitcher,  where  it  had  lodged.  Business 
was  then  resumed  again,  although  with  a  faint 
semblance  of  uneasiness  generally  visible. 

The  pitcher  was  very  red  in  the  face,  and  said 
"  I  declare  "  several  times.     This  time  she  took  a 


A  FEMALE  BASE-BALL   CLUB.  77 

more  careful  aim,  but  still  neglected  to  look  in 
some  other  direction  than  toward  the  batter,  and 
the  ball  was  presently  poked  out  of  another  tree. 

"Why,  this  is  dreadful !"  said  the  batter,  whose 
nerves  had  been  kept  at  a  pretty  stiff  tension. 

"  Perfectly  dreadful ! "    chimed   in   the  catcher, 
with  a  long  sigh. 

"  I  think  you  had  better  get  up  in  one  of  the 
trees,"  mildly  suggested  the  fielder  to  the  batter. 

The  observations  somewhat  nettled  the  pitcher, 
and  she  declared  she  would  not  try  again,  where- 
upon a  change  was  made  with  the  fielder.  She 
was  certainly  more  sensible.  Just  as  soon  as  she 
was  ready  to  let  drive,  she  shut  her  eyes  so  tight 
as  to  loosen  two  of  her  puffs  and  pull  out  her  back 
comb,  and  madly  fired  away.  The  ball  flew 
directly  at  the  batter,  which  so  startled  that  lady, 
who  had  the  bat  clinched  in  both  hands  with  des- 
perate grip,  that  she  involuntarily  cried,  "Oh, 
my ! "  and  let  it  drop,  and  ran.  This  movement 
uncovered  the  catcher,  who  had  both  hands  ex- 
tended about  three  feet  apart,  in  readiness  for  the 
catch,  but  being  intently  absorbed  in  studying  the 
coil  on  the  back  of  the  batter's  head,  she  was  not 
able  to  recover  in  time,  and  the  ball  caught  her 
in  the  bodice  with  sufficient  force  to  deprive  her 
of  all  her  breath,  which  left  her  lips  with  ear- 
piercing  shrillness.  There  was  a  lull  in  the  pro- 
ceedings for  ten  minutes,  to  enable  the  other  mem- 
bers of  the  club  to  arrange  their  hair. 

The  batter  again  took  position,  when  one  of  the 


78  A  FEMALE  BASE-BALL  CLUB. 

party,  discovering  that  she  was  holding  the  bat 
very  much  as  a  woman  carries  a  broom  when  she 
is  after  a  cow  in  the  garden,  showed  her  that  the 
tip  must  rest  on  the  ground  and  at  her  side,  with 
her  body  a  trifle  inclined  in  that  direction.  The 
suggester  took  the  bat  and  showed  just  how  it 
was  done,  and  brought  around  the  bat  with  such 
vehemence  as  to  almost  carry  her  from  her  feet, 
and  to  nearly  brain  the  catcher.  That  party 
shivered,  and  moved  back  some  fifteen  feet. 

The  batter  took  her  place,  and  laid  the  tip  of 
the  bat  on  the  ground,  and  the  pitcher  shut  her 
eyes  again  as  tightly  as  before,  and  let  drive. 
The  fielder  had  taken  the  precaution  to  get  back 
of  a  tree,  or  otherwise  she  must  have  been  dis- 
figured for  life.  The  ball  was  recovered.  The 
pitcher  looked  heated  and  vexed.  She  did  n't 
throw  it  this  time.  She  just  gave  it  a  pitching 
motion,  but  not  letting  go  of  it  in  time  it  went 
over  her  head,  and  caused  her  to  sit  down  with 
considerable  unexpectedness. 

Thereupon  she  declared  she  would  never  throw 
another  ball  as  long  as  she  lived,  and  changed  off 
with  the  catcher.  This  young  lady  was  somewhat 
determined,  which  augured  success.  Then  she 
looked  in  an  altogether  different  direction  from 
that  to  the  batter. 

And  this  did  the  business.  The  batter  was 
ready.  She  had  a  tight  hold  on  the  bat.  Just  as 
soon  as  she  saw  the  ball  start,  she  made  a  tremen- 
dous lunge  with  the  bat,  let  go  of  it,  and  turned 


MR.  COB  LEIGH  GETS  READY  FOR  A  JOURNEY.      79 

around  in  time  to  catch  the  ball  in  the  small  of 
her  back,  while  the  bat  being  on  its  own  hook, 
and  seeing  a  stone  figure  holding  a  vase  of  flowers, 
neatly  clipped  off  its  arm  at  the  elbow  and  let  the 
flowers  to  the  ground. 

There  was  a  chorus  of  screams,  and  some  con- 
fusion of  skirts,  and  then  the  following  dialogue 
took  place  :  — 

No.  I.     "Let  's  give  up  the  nasty  thing," 

No.  2.     "Let 's." 

No.  3.      "  So  I  say." 

No.  4.     "It  's  just  horrid." 

This  being  a  majority,  the  adjournment  was 
made. 

The  game  was  merely  an  experiment.  And  it 
is  just  as  well  it  was.  Had  it  been  a  real  game, 
it  is  likely  that  some  one  would  have  been  killed 
outright. 


MR.    COBLEIGH    GETS    READY    FOR   A 
JOURNEY. 

Mr.  Cobleigh  was  preparing  to  go  away  on 
the  early  train,  Monday  morning.  Being  of  a 
nervous  temperament  himself,  and  somewhat 
crowded  for  time,  shirt-buttons  hugged  close  to 
the  cloth,  and  button-holes  appeared  to  be  turned 
upside  down.  Just  as  he  grasped  his  carpet-bag 
and  was  about  to  start,  a  strange  cat  made  a  dash 


So      MR.  COBLE/GH  GETS  READY  FOR  A  JOURNEY. 

in  through  the  door  which  Mrs.  Cobleii;h  opened 
to  see  if  the  weather  looked  sufficiently  threaten- 
ing to  make  an  umbrella  necessary.  The  entrance 
of  the  cat  was  a  great  shock  to  both  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Cobleigh,  as  both  despised  cats.  Mrs.  Cobleigh 
screamed,  "  Scat !  "  but  the  animal  misunderstood 
what  she  said,  and  instead  of  climbing  over  her 
and  running  outdoors,  it  started  into  the  sitting- 
room.  Mr.  Cobleigh  put  after  it  at  once.  The 
cat  dodged  under  the  lounge,  and  Mr.  Cobleigh 
had  to  shove  the  lounge  around  before  he  could 
dislodge  it.  Out  from  there  it  put  for  the  front 
bedroom,  the  door  to  which  being  conveniently 
open.  Mr.  Cobleigh  hastened  after.  All  this 
time  he  retained  his  hold  on  the  carpet-bag,  and 
the  spectacle  of  a  man  with  a  carpet-bag  chasing 
a  cat  must  have  been  an  inspiring  one  to  even  so 
commonplace  a  woman  as  Mrs.  Cobleigh,  had  not 
that  lady  been  too  excited  to  notice  it.  She  had 
instinctively  secured  a  broom,  and  had  discreetly 
closed  the  outside  door,  and  was  now  prepared  to 
contribute  materially  to  the  exodus  of  the  cat. 

At  the  same  time  Mr.  Cobleigh,  with  the 
carpet-bag  well  in  hand,  was  following  the  cat 
amid  the  diversities  of  the  front-bedroom  furni- 
ture. And  the  carpet-bag  proved  a  valuable  aid. 
When  the  animal  went  under  the  bed,  Mr.  Cob- 
leigh got  down  on  his  knees  and  shook  the  bag  at 
her,  and  she  departed  for  a  chair.  And  then  Mr. 
Cobleigh  would  throw  the  bag  at  the  chair,  and 
the  cat  would  fly  under  the   bed   again,    leaving 


MR.  COB  LEIGH  GETS  READY  FOR  A  JOURNEY.      8 1 

Mr.  Cobleigh  to  pick  up  the  bag  himself,  which 
he  did.  Then  Mrs.  Cobleigh  got  in  with  the 
broom,  and  both  bag  and  broom  were  so  effectual 
that  the  cat  was  only  too  glad  to  take  refuge  in 
the  dining-room,  and  would  have  bolted  outdoors 
with  a  heart  full  of  gratitude,  without  doubt,  had 
there  been  any  means,  but  seeing  none,  it  departed 
into  the  kitchen. 

The  remark  that  Mr.  Cobleigh  made  on  seeing 
that  the  door  was  closed  we  will  not  record.  It 
was  intended  particularly  for  Mrs.  Cobleigh's  edifi- 
cation, and  would  lose  its  bloom  if  given  to  the 
public.  The  celerity  with  which  she  got  the  door 
open  was  most  commendable. 

But  the  cat  was  under  the  kitchen  stove,  and 
Mr.  Cobleigh  dashed  in  there,  the  trusty  bag  still 
in  hand,  and  his  whole  appearance  denoting  that 
he  was  about  to  take  a  journey. 

The  stove  was  much  lower  than  the  bed,  and  in 
getting  down  so  he  could  see  under  it,  and  present 
the  bag  to  the  attention  of  the  cat,  two  suspender 
buttons  on  his  best  pants  gave  away,  and  Mr. 
Cobleigh  was  forced  to  stand  ignominiously  by 
and  hold  up  the  garment,  while  Mrs.  Cobleigh 
started  the  cat  with  the  broom. 

The  repressed  wrath  of  this  performance  found 
expression  in  the  appearance  of  the  cat  and  its 
flight  to  the  dining-room  ;  and  the  exasperated  man, 
darting  in  there  in  time  to  see  the  animal  going 
through  the  door,  impulsively  shied  the  carpet-bag 
after  her. 

6 


82 


NE  W  ENGLAND  INQ  UTSITIVENESS. 


The  bag  missed  the  cat,  but  struck  the  floor  of 
the  stoop  with  such  force,  that,  striking  on  one 
corner,  it  split  apart,  and  Mr.  Cobleigh  was  elec- 
trified beyond  measure  to  see  its  contents  shoot 
out  into  the  street. 

He  then  gave  up  all  hopes  of  catching  the  train. 


NEW   ENGLAND   INQUISITIVENESS. 

It  is  remarkable,  the  amount  of  inquisitiveness 
a  New-Englander  develops  in  the  course  of  his 
life.  There  is  nothing  awkward  or  constrained 
about  it.  It  comes  easily,  naturally,  and  grace- 
fully. In  no  part  of  New  England  is  this  trait  so 
carefully  cultivated  as  in  our  own  dear  Connecticut. 
Its  fruits  are  shown  in  the  record  of  the  Patent 
Office.  There  are  other  fruits,  however,  not  quite 
so  happy,  which  never  get  inside  of  the  Patent 
Office,  and  it  is  just  as  well  they  don't.  Here  is 
an  instance  in  kind  :  A  Danbury  grocery  firm 
have  taken  the  agency  for  a  hammock.  One  of 
the  articles  they  have  hung  at  the  front  in  the 
shade  of  their  porch.  They  hung  it  there  as  a 
sample  and  as  an  advertisement,  but  numerous 
people  have  got  into  it  to  see  how  it  worked. 
It  hung  so  low  they  could  easily  sit  in  it,  and 
undoubtedly  the  motion  was  agreeable  and  com- 
forting.    But  the  grocers  did  n't  fancy  this  per- 


NEW  ENGLAND  INQUISITIVENESS.  83 

formance,  especially  as  the  hammock  sitters  were 
not  hammock  buyers.  Saturday  afternoon  they 
removed  the  loop  to  one  end  from  the  hook,  and 
fastened  it  by  a  bit  of  twine  instead.  Shortly 
after  a  man  came  in  for  two  quarts  of  molasses. 
It  was  put  up  in  his  pail,  and  a  paper  tied  over 
the  top,  as  he  had  forgotten  to  bring  a  cover. 
When  he  passed  out  he  saw  the  hammock.  His 
curiosity  was  aroused  at  once.  The  grocers  were 
busy  inside,  so  he  thought  he  would  investigate  on 
his  own  hook.  With  that  keen  intuition  peculiar 
to  a  New  England  man,  he  saw  at  a  glance  that 
it  was  something  to  get  into.  He  knew  it  was 
nothing  to  wear,  and  was  equally  sure  it  could  not 
be  arranged  for  cooking.  He  sat  down  in  it. 
Then  he  swung  backward  and  lifted  his  feet  up. 
Then  the  twine  fastening  gave  away.  It  was  a 
dreadful  affair.  He  had  the  pail  of  molasses  sit- 
ting on  his  lap,  and  there  was  a  dog  sitting  under 
the  hammock.  Neither  the  dog  nor  the  molasses 
expected  anything,  any  more  than  the  man  him- 
self did.  It  was  a  terrible  surprise  to  all  of  them. 
The  man  and  the  dog  lost  their  presence  of  mind, 
and  even  the  pail  lost  its  head.  The  molasses 
went  into  his  lap,  and  ran  down  his  legs,  and 
swashed  up  under  his  vest,  and  insinuated  itself 
some  way  in  between  himself  and  his  clothes.  And 
when  he  went  down  he  hit  the  dog  with  his  heel 
on  the  back,  and  the  dog  was  so  wild  with  terror 
and  amazement  that  it  set  up  a  head-splitting  yell 
and  fled  madly  down  the  street,  having  first  taken 


84  A   LATE  FALL. 

the  precaution  to  bite  him  on  the  leg  and  to  tip 
over  a  tier  of  wooden  water-pails.  When  the 
pails  went  down  a  lot  of  hoes  were  carried  over 
with  them,  and  that  started  a  box  of  garden  seeds 
mounted  on  a  box,  and  they  in  turn  brought  away 
a  pile  of  peck  measures  whose  summit  was 
crowned  with  a  pyramid  of  canned  tomatoes. 
It  was  a  dreadful  shock  to  the  man,  and  fairly 
paralyzed  him  with  its  magnitude ;  but  when  one 
article  following  another  came  avalanching  atop 
of  him,  he  thought  the  evil  one  himself  had  burst 
loose,  and  he  just  screamed  as  loud  as  he  could. 
The  molasses  was  all  over  him,  and  the  garden 
seeds  had  adhered  to  the  molasses,  and  he  looked 
more  like  a  huge  gingerbread  stuck  full  of  caraways 
than  anything  else.  In  this  awful  condition  he 
waddled  home,  and  swore  every  step  of  the  way. 

There  has  never  been  anything  like  it  in  Dan- 
bury  since  the  British  burned  the  town. 


A   LATE   FALL. 

It  is  a  sad  thing  when  the  happiness  of  one  be- 
comes the  misery  of  another.  It  is  still  sadder 
when  the  good  and  the  beautiful  are  made  instru- 
ments of  torture.  The  mellow  sunshine  that  lies 
upon  all  the  earth,  the  balmy  air  laden  with  the 
scent  of  late  flowers,  and  the  hum  of  insect  life, 


A   LATE  FALL.  85 

are  carrying  misery  into  many  hearts.  To  women 
this  is  a  saddening  autumn.  Not  since  the  origi- 
nal fall  has  there  been  a  fall  so  disastrous  to  her 
as  this  fall.  The  sunlight,  the  warmth,  the  bud- 
ding trees  and  flowering  buds  cast  her  down. 
She  feels  the  days  slipping  noiselessly  but  swiftly 
by,  and  knows  that  soon,  so  soon,  it  will  be  too 
late. 

It  is  house-cleaning  season,  but  how  little  like, 
how  unnatural  it  is.  No  leaden  sky,  no  chilling 
air,  no  flying  damp.  There  is  no  joy  in  having 
the  stoves  down,  nor  the  carpets  up.  There  is  no 
happiness  in  having  the  windows  out. 

One  cannot  clean  house  without  having  it  an 
open  house  from  cellar  to  garret.  And  what  com- 
fort is  there  in  having  a  house  open,  if  no  man  is 
to  be  frozen  stiff  .'*  Of  what  use  is  having  the 
fires  out,  if  no  man  is  to  be  chilled  to  the  marrow.^ 
What  pleasure  can  there  be  in  having  a  man  shak- 
ing a  carpet  under  a  clear  sky,  or  blacking  a  stov^e- 
pipe  in  balmy  weather  .-* 

Pity  your  wife  now.  If  ever  she  needs  your 
sympathy,  your  patience,  your  forbearance,  it  is 
in  this  great  calamity  that  has  fallen  upon  her. 
Help  her  to  look  for  the  line  storm.  Get  up  be- 
fore she  does  in  the  morning.  Go  outdoors  and 
scrutinize  the  weather.  If  a  cloud  comes,  if  a 
damp  air  falls,  go  tell  her.     It  will  comfort  her. 

You  have  the  excitement  of  business,  the  pleas- 
urable society  of  the  world,  but  it  is  little  she  has 
to  entertain  her  and  take  her  out  of  herself,  and 


86 


THE  NEIGHBORHOOD'S  REMEDIES. 


the  most  of  that  is  comprised  in  turning  the  house 
upside  down  during  the  chill  days  of  the  line 
storm. 

She  will  get  discouraged  in  this  golden  sunlight 
and  mellow  haze ;  but  lift  her  up.  It  is  your  duty 
to  do  it.  Tell  her  not  to  despair,  that  a  line  storm 
comes  every  fall,  that  it  must  come  soon,  that  per- 
haps before  another  day  has  passed  the  air  will  be 
full  of  death's  chill  and  death's  damp,  and  every 
fire  can  be  extinguished,  every  window  be  taken 
out,  every  carpet  taken  up,  and  every  door  left 
open. 


THE  NEIGHBORHOOD'S  REMEDIES. 

We  would  not  have  people  to  be  entirely  indif- 
ferent to  each  other,  but  there  is  certainly  an 
interest  taken  in  each  other's  physical  welfare  that 
is  frequently  apprehensive.  Perhaps  the  cause  of 
this  lies  in  the  great  excess  of  supply  over  demand 
in  the  matter  of  remedies,  and  there  can  be  no 
change  for  the  better  until  this  condition  is 
reversed. 

Mr.  Womsley,  for  instance,  has  a  cold.  It 
settles  on  his  lungs  or  in  his  throat,  and  causes 
him  to  cough.  So  he  coughs.  He  can't  very 
well  cough  without  some  one  hearing  him.  Some 
one  hears  him,  and  says,  — 

"  Got  a  bad  cold,  eh  }     Should  be  taken  care  of 


THE  NEIGHBORHOOD'S  REMEDIES^  ^7 

or  there  '11  be  trouble.  Let  me  tell  you  what 
to  do." 

The  thing  to  do  in  this  case  is  to  take  a  strong 
draught  of  composition  tea  just  before  retiring, 
cover  up  warm,  and  in  the  morning  the  cold  is 
gone.  The  advice  is  followed.  However,  the 
cold  appears  to  be  there  just  the  same,  as  is 
evident  from  the  cough. 

He  speaks  of  it  to  A.  A  asks  him  what  he  is 
taking.     He  tells  him.     A  says,  — 

"Composition,  granny!  That  stuff  maybe  all 
well  enough  for  a  little  cold,  but  for  such  a  one  as 
you  've  got,  you  need  something  entirely  different. 
What  foie  want  is  a  good  square  dose  of  Santa 
Cruz  rum  and  molasses.  If  that  don't  fix  you, 
nothing  will." 

Mr.  Womsley  takes  a  good  square  dose,  and 
fortunately  goes  to  bed  on  it.  Otherwise  there 
might  have  been  trouble.  He  awakes  the  next 
morning  so  hoarse  he  can  scarcely  speak. 

The  next  day  the  remedies  increase.  Mr.  B's 
remedies  have  done  remarkable  cures  that  he  per- 
sonally knows  of.  Mr.  C's  came  from  an  old 
Indian  who  gave  it  to  one  of  his  ancestors,  and  it 
had  been  handed  down  direct,  without  being 
tampered  with.  Mr.  D's  cured  his  aunt  of  con- 
sumption after  a  number  of  doctors  had  given 
her  up.  Mr.  E's  is  something  entirely  new.  He 
has  been  dosed  to  death  himself  by  all  kinds  of 
stuff,  and  had  lost  all  faith,  and  was  n't  going 
to   try   this,    but   was   prevailed   upon   to    do    it, 


88  MASTER  COVILLE  AS  CUPID. 

and  now  he  wouldn't  be  without  it  for  the 
world,  etc. 

Thus  Mr.  Womsley  is  bombarded  on  the  third 
day  of  his  cold.  Is  it  any  wonder  that  he  becomes 
sensitive  on  the  subject  .^  That  his  illness  as- 
sumes a  new  phase  of  horror }  That  he  shrinks 
from  every  medicine  man  and  woman  in  the  com- 
munity .''  And  that  he  uses  all  means  in  his 
power  to  smother  the  cough  from  the  hearing  of 
every  one  .-'  These  are  not  wonders,  but  it  would 
be  a  very  great  wonder  indeed  if  he  did  not 
descend  to  deceit  and  lie  about  his  cough.  Mr. 
Womsley  believes  he  is  justified  in  lying,  and 
deliberately  goes  to  work  to  do  it. 

Now  who  is  to  blame  for  this  ? 


MASTER   COVILLE  AS   CUPID. 

Mr.  Coville's  niece,  an  estimable  as  well  as  a 
pretty  young  lady,  has  been  visiting  him  for  some 
time.  Shortly  after  her  coming,  a  clerk  in  one 
of  Danbury's  leading  stores  made  her  acquaint- 
ance, and  became  at  once  her  devoted  attendant, 
very  much  to  the  delight  of  young  Coville.  The 
clerk  is  very  fond  of  good  tobacco,  and  smokes 
an  admirable  cigar.  The  portion  of  it  that  is  not 
consumed  when  he  reaches  the  house,  he  leaves 
on  the  porch  until  he  comes  out  again.     The  third 


MASTER  COVILLE  AS  CUPID.  89 

or  fourth  time  he  did  this  young  Coville  detected 
the  move,  and  lost  no  time  in  possessing  himself 
of  the  luxury,  with  which  he  retired  to  an  out-of- 
the-way  place.  When  this  had  been  done  several 
times,  and  several  times  the  clerk  had  secretly 
felt  for  and  missed  his  cigar,  he  began  to  grow 
suspicious  and  uneasy.  Perceiving  this,  young 
Coville  awoke  to  the  fact  that  something  must 
be  speedily  done  to  counteract  the  smoker's  dis- 
cretion, and  the  best  way  to  do  it  was  to  so  com- 
pletely involve  him  in  the  meshes  of  love  as  to 
make  the  loss  of  an  unfinished  cigar  a  matter  of 
no  account  whatever.  With  this  view  he  put 
himself  in  the  young  man's  way  at  the  store. 
The  bait  took. 

"  How  's  Minnie  .''"  asked  the  clerk,  anxiously. 

"  She  's  not  very  well,"  said  young  Coville. 

"Why,  what  's  the  matter .?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  I  guess  you  know  that  better  'n 
I  do,"  answered  the  youth,  with  a  facetious  wink, 

"I  know.?" 

"  I  guess  so.     Oh,  she  's  gone  on  you." 

"  Sh  !  "  cautioned  the  clerk,  looking  around  to 
see  if  they  were  unobserved.  "  What  do  you 
mean,  Billy .'' "  And  he  blushed  and  looked 
pleased. 

"  Why,  you  see,  she  's  as  chirk  as  can  be  when 
you  're  there,  but  when  you  ain't  she  's  all  down 
the  mouth.     She  don't  fix  her  hair,  an'  she  won't 
see  anyliody,  an'  she  goes  around  the  house  sigh 
ing,  an'  sets  on  a  chair  for  an  hour  without  sayin' 


90  MASTER   COVILLE  AS  CUPTD. 

a  blamed  word  to  nobody,  but  just  lookin'  at  the 
wall.  Then  there 's  another  thing,"  added  the 
young  man,  impressively,  "  she  don't  put  cologne 
on  her  handkerchief,  only  when  you  're  coming. 
Oh,  I  know  a  thing  or  two,  you  bet!"  And  he 
winked  again. 

To  say  that  the  clerk  was  too  pleased  and 
rejoiced  for  anything,  is  but  feebly  expressing  the 
frame  of  his  mind.  In  the  excitement  of  emotion 
he  gave  young  Coville  a  quarter.  That  diplo- 
mat hastened  home  and  immediately  sought  his 
cousin. 

"  Minnie,"  he  said,  "  I  have  been  up  to  Charley's 
store." 

"  Have  you } "  she  said,  trying  to  look  very 
much  unconcerned. 

"  Yes,  and  I  can  tell  you,  Minnie,  he  's  just  a 
prime  fellow,  — way  up.     But  he  's  gone  on  you." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Willie  }  "  asked  the  flushed 
and  agitated  girl. 

"  I  mean  just  what  I  say.  He  's  gone  sure. 
He  got  me  off  in  one  corner,  and  he  just  pelted 
the  questions  into  me  about  you.  By  gracious, 
Minnie,  it 's  awful  to  see  how  he  is  gone  on  you. 
He  wanted  to  know  what  you  're  doin',  an'  if 
you  're  enjoying  yourself,  an'  if  you  're  careful 
about  your  health.  He  'd  better  be  looking  for 
his  own,   I  'm   thinkin'." 

The  girl  was  pleased  by  these  marks  of  devo- 
tion from  the  handsome  clerk,  but  her  heart  failed 
her  at  the  last  observation. 


THE   INFLUENCE   OF  A    CIRCUS.  9 1 

"  Why,  what  do  you  mean,  Willie  ?  "  she  asked, 
in  considerable  apprehension. 

"  Oh,  nothing,  only  if  he  keeps  a-goin'  down  as 
he  is  of  late,  it  won't  be  many  months  before  he 
is  salted  down  for  good,"  said  the  young  man, 
gloomily.  "  He  told  me  that  the  things  of  this 
world  wa'n't  long  for  him." 

And  young  Coville  solemnly  shook  his  head 
and  withdrew  to  invest  the  quarter. 

A  great  happiness  has  come  upon  Charley  and 
Minnie  now.  Four  times  a  week  he  visits  her, 
and  four  times  a  week  young  Coville  pensively 
sits  back  of  the  fence,  smoking  a  cigar  and  specu- 
lating on  the  joyful  future  opening  before  his 
cousin  and  her  lover. 


THE   INFLUENCE   OF   A   CIRCUS. 

There  is  nothing  that  takes  a  stronger  hold 
upon  the  public  heart  than  a  circus.  Can  you 
explain  it .''  What  is  there  in  the  tinsel  and  saw- 
dust and  gaudy  paint  that  penetrates  to  every 
heart  in  the  community  and  draws  it  irresistibly 
out  of  the  regular  channels  of  life  1  What  is  it  in 
these  things  that  lays  a  hand  of  iron  upon  every 
branch  of  trade,  and  for  twenty-four  hours  holds 
the  industry  of  a  town  passive  within  its  power .-' 
Can  you  tell  this  ? 


92  rilE  INFLUENCE  OF  A    CIRCUS. 

We  laugh  at  people  while  we  pity  them  for 
making  such  an  ado  over  a  circus.  We  relent 
lessly  force  our  children  off  to  school,  and  shut 
our  heart  stoutly  against  their  every  appeal  for 
freedom.  We  can't  abide  the  folly  of  this  circus 
going.  And  then  we  sneak  off  to  the  line  of  pro- 
cession (because  we  like  to  see  what  fools  people 
will  make  of  themselves),  and  if  there  is  aught  in 
the  line  that  we  do  not  take  in  we  should  very 
much  like  to  be  informed  of  it. 

We  like  a  circus,  and  we  don't  care  to  deny  it 
either.  We  commence  to  think  of  it  several  days 
before  it  comes.  We  awake  on  that  day  full  of 
excitable  expectations.  We  would  n't  miss  the 
procession  for  the  price  of  a  universe.  We  see 
beauty  in  the  sawdust  of  the  ring.  We  find  glory 
in  the  dash  of  the  performance.  We  are  intoxi- 
cated with  the  lights,  and  the  tinsel,  and  the 
sounds  that  come  from  every  side. 

Is  n't  this  so  with  you  .-* 

Don't  deny  it.  Be  honest,  and  confess  you 
were  just  as  delirious  as  the  rest  of  us.  You  may 
have  been  calm  enough  the  night  before.  We 
don't  say  you  were  not.  You  laughed  at  the  fools 
who  talk  of  a  circus.  You  lost  patience  wdth 
their  zeal.  You  deplored  the  loss  of  time  and 
money. 

But  the  next  morning!  Didn't  you  know  it 
was  a  circus  morning  before  you  heard  a  sound  .-' 
Didn't  your  blood  mov^e  more  rapidly  .-'  Didn't 
you    feel  a  sense   of   restlessness  creeping  over 


THE   INFLUENCE   OF  A    CIRCUS.  93 

you  ?  Of  course  you  did.  There  was  circus  in  the 
air.  The  very  atmosphere  was  full  of  its  electri- 
city, and  you  felt  it,  and  passed  under  its  spell, 
and  could  not  fight  it  off, 

And  you  saw  that  procession.  If  you  didn't 
you  carried  on  like  a  pirate,  and  could  snap  off 
the  heads  of  the  rest  of  the  family  for  talking 
about  it.  You  were  right  in  the  thickest  of  the 
crowd.  You  despised  them  for  making  such  fools 
of  themselves,  of  course.  You  got  indignant 
because  they  jostled  you,  but  you  wouldn't  have 
been  jostled  if  you  had  been  at  your  place  of  busi- 
ness, or  down  cellar  sorting  over  seed  potatoes,  as 
the  despiser  of  circuses  always  flatters  hhnself 
that  he  will  be  on  circus  day  But  then  you  had 
to  go  down  town  on  an  errand  at  the  store,  and  you 
couldn't  help  it  if  the  procession  came  along  just 
then,  and  the  crowd  was  so  great  that  you  couldn't 
get  off  the  street  until  the  procession  was  over. 
It  is  a  little  singular  that  you  didn't  think  to  go 
way  to  the  rear  of  the  store.  You  would  have 
found  room  there,  without  doubt. 

You  did  n't  go  to  the  circus,  of  course.  But 
there  was  no  harm  in  going  up  to  the  grounds  and 
looking  at  the  tent.  Certainly  not.  Or  going  in 
and  seeing  the  animals.  Animals  are  harmless. 
Fine  lessons  may  be  learned  in  studying  animals. 
After  you  saw  the  animals  you  came  away.  And 
when  you  came  away,  the  masses  came  too. 

Which  is  remarkable. 

They  appear  to  have  tired  of  the  ring  perform 


94  DO    WE   GROW  TIRED  ^OF  FLOWERS? 

ance  at  the  very  moment  you  finished  studying 
the  animals. 


DO   WE   GROW   TIRED   OF  FLOWERS? 

"  Have  you  noticed  that  you  never  grow  tired 
of  flowers  ?  "  asked  a  writer.  Flowers  are  beauti- 
ful. Even  the  humble  blossoms  at  the  roadside 
are  pretty.  It  rests  one  to  look  at  flowers.  They 
are  loveliness  perfected.  There  is  no  flaw  in 
their  beauty.  In  gracefulness,  delicacy,  coloring, 
fragrance,  flowers  are  the  masterpiece  of  Nature's 
handiwork.  However  plain  may  be  the  furnishing 
of  a  house,  if  it  is  provided  with  flowers  it  is  an 
attractive  spot.  Flowers  refine  him  who  cultivates 
them,  and  gladden  all  who  come  in  contact  with 
them.  They  cost  but  little,  yet  how  much  they 
improve  and  beautify  a  place.  And  when  they 
come  in  the  springtime,  after  the  frosts  and  snows, 
how  they  revive  and  delight  the  beholder.  And  to 
have  them  in  the  house  through  the  winter,  their 
bright  colors  and  growing  green  in  such  contrast 
to  the  bleak  outdoors,  is  a  well-spring  of  joy. 

And  yet  there  is  something  very  saddening 
about  flowers.  They  deck  the  bride  and  smile 
amid  the  festivities  of  life,  but  they  also  cover  the 
dead.  Then  they  have  to  be  got  in  in  the  fall. 
Women   are   more   attached  to  flowers  than  are 


DO    WE   GROW  TIRED   OF  FLOWERS?  95 

men.  To  them  the  blossoms  speak  in  a  language 
we  cannot  comprehend.  Between  flowers  and 
woman  there  is  a  mysterious  sympathy.  There  is 
something  very  beautiful  in  this.  To  a  woman  a 
flower  is  symbolic  of  purity,  tenderness,  delicacy. 
To  a  man  a  flower  is  suggestive  of  papers,  sheets, 
overcoats,  and  even  bits  of  carpet.  Men  would 
love  flowers  more,  would  better  appreciate  their 
delightful  lessons,  if  they  did  not  have  to  get  out 
at  night  and  cover  them  up.  It  is  a  melancholy 
performance,  covering  up  flowers  to  keep  them 
from  the  frost.  One  has  to  take  off  his  slippers 
and  put  on  his  boots  to  do  it.  He  has  to  give  up 
interesting  reading  to  attend  to  it.  Then  it  is 
very  dark  outdoors,  and  he  steps  into  unlooked- 
for  holes,  and  walks  plump  against  unexpected 
objects.  It  is  an  operation  that  sorely  tries  his 
temper,  because  of  the  delays  ;  the  differences  of 
opinion  in  regard  to  the  plants  which  should  be 
covered  and  the  size  of  the  article  to  be  used  in 
covering ;  the  losing  of  pins,  and  the  uncertainty 
of  the  extent  of  the  work.  No  man  knows,  when 
he  commences  the  task,  the  amount  that  is  to  be 
done,  and  it  is  this  undecision  and  delay  and 
changing  about  while  the  keen  air  cuts  into  his 
unprotected  frame,  that  is  worst  of  all.  Sometimes 
he  will  get  into  the  house  four  or  five  times  under 
the  impression  that  the  work  is  done,  only  to  be 
called  out  again  to  attend  to  a  new  plant,  and  to 
be  reproached  for  his  haste  to  shirk  duty.  The 
seeds  of  long,  and  many  times  fatal,  illness  are 


9^  DO    WE   GROW  TIRED   OF  FLOWERS? 

sown  on  these  occasions ;  for  a  man  generally 
miscalculates  the  time  required  to  cover  a  lot  of 
plants,  and,  in  the  vexation  that  is  upon  him, 
hurries  out  doors  in  his  shirt  sleeves,  and  perhaps 
bareheaded.  This  is  caused  both  by  desperation 
and  to  make  the  work  brief  by  creating  the  im- 
pression that  he  expects  it  to  be  so.  If  he  went 
out  comfortably  bundled  up,  his  wife  would  take 
that  as  an  earnest  invitation  to  keep  him  bobbing 
around  in  the  dark  and  frosty  air  half  the  night, 
and  would  do  it,  without  doubt.  A  man  cannot 
be  too  circumspect  on  such  an  occasion. 

There  are  many  irritating  variances  of  opinion 
in  the  matter  of  covering  up  flowers.  There  are 
plants  of  such  a  hardy  nature  as  to  need  no  cover- 
ing during  the  first  frosts  of  the  season,  but  it 
pains  us  to  say  that  a  woman  is  not  aware  of  it. 
Then  a  man  and  his  wife  differ  as  to  the  strength 
of  the  frost.  He  knows  that  if  there  is  to  be  a 
frost  at  all,  and  its  coming  is  very  doubtful,  it  will 
be  so  light  as  to  do  no  harm  whatever.  But  she, 
on  the  contrary,  declares  that  it  will  be  so  heavy 
as  to  kill  every  plant  and  seriously  menace  the 
fruit-trees.  Her  obstinacy  causes  much  unhap- 
piness. 

Pretty  soon  the  time  comes  for  carrying  in  the 
plants.  The  operation  is  called  carrying  them  in, 
but  lugging  is  a  much  more  pertinent  term.  Night 
is  the  popular  time  for  doing  it,  because  in  the 
dark,  and  with  his  face  full  of  foliage,  the  man 
who  does  the  lugging  knows  no  more  where  he  is 


POPULAR  WA  Y  OF  BEGINNING  THE  YEAR.        97 

going  than  if  he  were  blindfolded  in  a  strange 
cemetery,  and  is  far  more  likely  to  crack  his  shins 
than  to  save  them. 

After  a  man  has  chilled  his  vitals  in  covering 
up  plants,  and  strained  his  spine  in  lugging  them 
into  the  house,  it  is  very  cheering  to  hear  his  wife 
declare  that  she  is  sick  at  heart  of  all  the  muss, 
and  it  is  the  last  time  she  will  ever  bother  with 
the  plaguy  things. 

And  he  will  hear  it.  It  is  just  as  certain  as 
death. 


THE  POPULAR  WAY  OF  BEGINNING 
THE  YEAR. 

There  is  no  day  waited  for  with  so  much  impa- 
tience as  the  I  St  of  January.  The  saint  of  New 
Year's  day  is  a  Russian.  His  name  is  Schwearoff. 
It  is  a  day  when  most  men  throw  aside  their  bad 
habits,  sponge  off  the  record  of  the  past,  and  begin 
anew  with  clean  page.  As  a  people  we  are  not  so 
particular  how  we  end,  if  the  beginning  is  only 
right. 

It  is  universally  conceded  that  there  is  no  use 
in  trying  to  turn  a  new  leaf  at  any  other  time  than 
on  the  first  day  of  the  year.  Other  days  have  been 
tried,  aiid  after  a  fair  and  impartial  trial  have  been 
found  wanting  There  is  an  indescribable  some- 
thmg  in  them  that  prevents  them  from  taking  hold, 

7 


9^        POPULAR  WAY  OF  BEGINNING  THE  YEAR. 

and  so,  one  by  one,  they  have  been  dropped  in 
favor  of  the  first  day  of  January.  This  is  the  day 
that  takes  hold  above  all  other  days.  It  is  chiefly 
esteemed  for  its  grip. 

So  everybody  waits  for  the  first  day  of  January 
to  put  his  best  foot  forward.  And  for  one  day  in 
the  year  the  world  is  almost  perfect. 

The  nan  who  smokes  waits  for  that  day  to  ab- 
jure smoking  forever.  He  might  take  the  vow  on 
some  other  day,  but  he  is  in  earnest  and  must  wait 
till  then,  or  he  would  not  be  able  to  "hold  out." 
He  realizes  the  power  the  habit  has  had  over  him, 
and  how  seriously  it  is  hurting  him,  and  is  deter- 
mined to  shake  it  off.  He  waits  impatiently  for 
the  first  day  of  the  new  year,  and  smokes  to  calm 
his  impatience. 

The  man  who  chews  waits  for  that  day.  Chew- 
ing is  a  vile  habit,  and  should  be  abandoned. 
Nobody  understands  this  more  clearly  than  he. 
The  1st  of  January  will  fix  it.  He  will  break  off 
then  as  clean  as  a  whistle.  It  is  such  a  nasty, 
dirty  habit  that  it  should  be  broken  off  for  good ; 
so  he  keeps  on  in  the  filth  until  the  New- Year 
day,  that  he  may  have  all  the  advantage  of  that 
occasion. 

The  man  who  drinks  waits  for  it.  Liquor  is 
hurting  him.  He  feels  it  every  day.  It  is  not 
only  injuring  him  physically,  but  mentally  also; 
and  it  hurts  his  business,  and  makes  his  folks 
unhappy.  Besides,  drinking  is  setting  a  very  bad 
example  for  those  about  him.     He  must  give  it 


POPULAR  WA  V  OF  BEGINNING  THE  YEAR.        99 

up.  It  is  wrong  to  indulge  the  habit.  He  is  very 
anxious  for  the  ist  of  January  to  come,  so  he  can 
stop  the  wrong. 

The  night  of  the  31st  of  December  is  a  grea. 
event  in  the  lives  of  these  men.  They  wait  impa- 
tiently until  twelve  o'clock.  It  would  n't  do  to  stop 
smoking,  chewing,  or  drinking  a  minute  before 
that  hour.  At  twelve  o'clock  the  last  cigar  is  put 
out,  the  last  chew  thrown  away,  the  last  drink 
is  swallowed. 

What  an  inspiring  spectacle  is  this !  How  sol- 
emn !  How  sublime  !  How  majestic  is  the  strength 
of  man,  when  his  will  is  aroused  !  What  a  gran- 
deur there  is  in  this  sacrifice  of  self  upon  the  altar 
of  duty ! 

It  is  said  that  the  good  once  understood  will 
always  be  followed  ;  and  it  is  so.  These  men  once 
having  tasted  the  joys  of  release  from  a  vicious 
habit  will  never  again  lose  the  opportunity  for 
swearing  off.  They  will  swear  off  on  the  first  day 
of  every  year,  as  long  as  they  live. 

The  first  day  of  January  is  conspicuous  in 
another  way.  It  is  the  day  when  diaries  are  com- 
menced. You  rarely  hear  of  any  one  commencing 
a  diary  at  any  other  time  of  the  year.  Such  a  one 
would  not  be  orthodox,  and  it  would  not,  probably, 
be  kept  two  weeks.  Most  people  begin  to  keep  a 
daily  record  of  events  on  the  first  day  of  the  year, 
and  so  diaries  are  to  be  found  in  nearly  all  house- 
holds. They  are  excellent  things  to  have.  They  arc 
good  in  after  years  to  paste  poetry  and  recipes  in. 


lOO       A  COUNTRY  VILLAGE  ON  THE  FOURTH. 

The  trouble  with  diaries  is  that  they  are  too 
large,  altogether  too  large.  Manufacturers  try  to 
crowd  too  much  in  them.  They  persist  in  put- 
ting in  all  of  the  months.  The  model  diary  that 
is  yet  in  the  far  future  will  never  go  beyond  the 
month  of  January. 

And  many  of  them  will  be  kept  faitlif ully. 


A   COUNTRY  VILLAGE  ON  THE  FOURTH  OF 
JULY. 

There  are  two  conspicuous  features  which  go 
to  distinguish  the  glorious  anniversary  of  our  na- 
tional independence  from  any  other  holiday^  and 
these  are  the  presence  of  noise  and  the  absence 
of  cats.  The  noise  commences  when  the  boys 
wake  up.  The  cats  commence  when  they  wake 
up.  We  don't  know  where  the  cats  go.  We  only 
know  they  go.  Sometimes  we  have  thought  they 
may  dissolve  in  the  air,  and  ascend  into  space 
until  the  racket  is  over.  But  this  is  merely  a  spec- 
ulation. Dogs  are  unlike  cats.  Dogs  are  more 
like  women  ;  trusting,  confiding,  and  hoping  for 
the  best.  So  dogs  stay  around  to  see  what  's 
going  on.     Quite  frequently  they  find  out. 

The  Fourth  of  July  was  not  made  for  the  boys, 
but  they  have  got  hold  of  it.     It  is  a  boy's  day  as 


A  COUNTRY  VILLAGE  ON  THE  FOURTH.     lOI 

completely  and  thoroughly  as  if  they  had  Veen 
measured  for  it.  No  man  thinks  of  the  day  in  its 
true  significance.  If  he  ponders  on  and  speaks  of 
the  heroism,  the  devotion,  the  glory  of  the  men  of 
'76,  he  is  a  drinking  man,  and  will  be  as  drunk  as 
a  fiddler  within  an  hour,  if  not  already  there.  No 
man  cares  aught  for  the  day,  unless  he  keeps  a 
saloon  or  makes  ice-cream  or  sells  fire-works.  If 
he  does  n't  go  on  a  picnic,  he  stays  home  and 
hoes  his  garden. 

It  is  the  boy  who  meets  and  escorts  in  the  day, 
who  waits  upon  it  while  it  stays,  and  sees  it  off  at 
the  last.  As  long  as  there  are  boys  there  will  be 
a  glorious  anniversary  of  our  national  indepen- 
dence. When  they  play  out,  it  .will  play  out. 
There  is  nothing  a  man  forgets  so  easily  and  com- 
pletely as  that  he  was  once  a  boy.  The  man  who 
is  awaked  out  of  a  sound  sleep  at  dawn  cf  the 
Fourth,  and  swears  at  the  noise,  who  is  startled 
by  an  unexpected  cracker,  or  deafened  by  an  unex- 
pected cannon,  and  calls  the  whole  thing  a  piece 
of  condemned  foolishness  that  ought  to  be  swept 
from  the  face  of  the  earth,  was  once  a  boy  himself, 
and  the  noisiest,  the  earliest,  the  latest,  and  the 
most  infernal  of  all  the  boys  in  his  gang.  But 
you  would  n't  think  so,  to  hear  him  fume  and  fret 
and  scold  now. 

It  would  be  amusing  if  it  were  not  so  painful 
to  hear  parents  advise  the  boys  to  go  to  bed  early, 
on  the  night  of  the  third,  so  to  get  rested  by  a 
good  sleep. 


102       A  COUNTRY  VILLAGE  ON  THE  EOI^RTLf. 

Sleep!  What  an  insane  idea!  Sleep  on  the 
night  of  the  third!     Are  parents  mad? 

Does  a  man  want  to  trade  off  a  leg  of  flesh  for 
one  of  wood  ?  Does  a  cockroach  ask  for  a  paper 
of  carpet-tacks  ?  Does  an  oyster  yearn  for  a 
porous  plaster  ?  Then  why  should  a  boy  want 
sleep  on  the  night  before  the  Fourth  ?  What  he 
wants  is  powder  to  explode,  windows  to  rattle, 
and  an  aged  lady  in  the  neighborhood  to  faint 
dead  away.  If  he  should  want  anything  else  he 
will  mention  it.  If  you  would  have  him  perfectly 
happy  on  this  day  of  all  days  ask  him  not  to  sleep, 
ask  him  not  to  wash  himself. 

There  are  two  seasons  of  the  day  when,  by  their 
li\id  contrast  to  each  other,  they  form  epochs. 
One  of  these  is  at  lo  a.  m.,  the  other  is  at  3  p.  m. 

Danbury  at  10  a.  m.  presented  a  remarkably 
lively  appearance.  Many  of  the  stores  were 
closed,  but  this  was  not  noticeable  in  the  life  and 
animation  everywhere  about.  The  main  street 
was  full  of  people.  Teams  were  running  to  and 
fro.  Boys  were  busy  comparing  notes,  laying  in 
further  supplies,  and  firing  off  those  already  on 
hand.  Folks  after  cream  and  lemons,  women  in 
white,  men  with  baskets  on  picnics  bent,  were 
hurrying  here  and  there,  and  the  scene  they  made 
was  a  lively  one  indeed. 

At  3  p.  M.  a  radical  change  had  swept  over 
the  village.  Both  nature  and  humanity  were 
exhausted,  and  Danbury  lay  pulseless  in  the  glare 
of  the  sun.     The  main  street  was  comparatively 


MR.    COBLEIGH'S  DESCENT.  IO3 

deserted ;  the  private  streets  were  entirely  so. 
Here  and  there  an  irrepressible  boy  let  off  a 
cracker  or  a  little  cannon,  but  these  sounds,  by 
their  rarity  and  brevity,  only  made  the  silence  the 
more  oppressive.  A  wandering  man,  appearing 
as  if  he  had  just  been  shoved  out  of  a  graveyard, 
was  to  be  seen  moving  aimlessly  about.  The 
stone  flags  and  gutters  were  full  of  debris  of  the 
burnt  crackers,  fruit  leavings,  peanut  shells,  and 
cigar  stumps.  The  sun  poured  straight  down  in 
a  blinding  glare  of  heat  upon  blistering  stones, 
gray  dust  of  roads,  and  yellow  gravel  of  walks. 
"  The  town  was  like  a  man  who  had  been  kicking 
up  Old  Ned  to  his  heart's  content,  and  had  now 
laid  down,  and  did  n't  want  anybody  to  touch  him. 


MR.   COBLEIGH'S   DESCENT. 

Mrs.  Cobleigh  had  been  scrubbing  the  oil-cloth 
under  the  kitchen  stove.  Mr.  Cobleigh  stood  by 
the  stove  putting  on  a  clean  shirt.  At  this  junc- 
ture, at  the  most  painful  juncture  possible,  —  as 
Mr.  Cobleigh  had  his  head  entirely  obscured  in  the 
garment, — a  neighboring  woman  came  upon  the 
back  stoop  and  knocked  at  the  door.  It  was  quite 
a  start  to  Mr.  Cobleigh.  He  pulled  away  at  the 
robe  to  relieve  his  eyes,  and  at  the  same  time  made 
a  plunge  foi:   escape.     It   was   a  violent  plunge. 


I04  MR.    COB  LEIGH'S  DESCENT. 

He  put  all  the  strength  of  his  physical  resources 
into  this  leap.  He  didn't  strike  against  the  stove 
or  plunge  over  a  chair.  He  simply  landed  with 
the  flying  foot  upon  the  piece  of  soap  with  which 
Mrs.  Cobleigh  had  been  cleaning  the  cloth.  For 
a  single  instant  Mr.  Cobleigh's  body  paused,  an 
instant  of  terrific  suspense,  and  then  the  soap 
started  off,  and  Mr.  Cobleigh  came  down  upon  the 
floor  with  a  shock  that  knocked  the  neig'hboring 
woman  from  the  stoop  and  caused  Mrs.  Cobleigh 
to  sink  unconscious  where  she  stood,  —  a  shock 
that  made  every  plate  upon  the  pantry  shelf  dance 
and  jingle,  and  set  the  knives  and  forks  within 
their  resting-place  to  leaping  over  each  other,  — 
a  shock  that  caused  the  heavy  kitchen  table  to 
rear  up  on  one  leg  as  if  in  the  delirium  of  a  drunk, 
and  made  two  vases  sharing  a  mantel  on  the  upper 
floor  to  nod  threateningly  at  each  other  across  the 
space  that  divided  them. 

It  was  a  terrific  fall.  Every  timber  in  the  build- 
ing felt  it,  and  shivered  as  it  came.  Even  the 
foundation-stones  moved,  and  the  tremor  passed 
from  them  to  adjoining  shrubs,  and  set  their  tops 
to  shaking  as  if  a  wind  were  passing  over  them, 
while  the  sash  within  the  windows  shook  and 
rattled  to  such  a  degree  as  to  threaten  their  com- 
plete dislodgment. 

It  seemed  as  if  every  flying  bird  and  whispering 
wind  and  nodding  leaf  knew  that  Mr.  Cobleigh 
had  fallen,  and  was  appalled  thereby. 

In    the    mean    time    the   neierhboring:    woman 


AN  EXTRAORDINARY  AFFAIR.  10$ 

recovered  herself  and  sallied  home  straightway. 
Mr.  Cobleigh  clawed  his  way  out  of  the  folds  of 
the  shirt  and  limped  off  to  bed;  and  Mrs.  Cobleigh, 
coming  back  to  consciousness,  immediately  pro- 
ceeded to  hunt  up  the  soap. 


AN   EXTRAORDINARY  AFFAIR. 

It  certainly  was  a  most  extraordinary  affair, 
and  the  parties  interested  will  remember  it  as  long 
as  they  live.  The  young  lady  was  shopping  in 
the  evening.  On  her  way  home  she  was  overtaken 
by  a  young  man,  an  acquaintance,  who  asked  the 
pleasure  of  escorting  her  home.  The  offer  was 
accepted,  and  the  two  proceeded,  he  carrying  her 
bundles,  and  making  himself  generally  agreeable, 
as  is  the  custom  in  such  cases.  Arriving  at  her 
home,  she  took  him  direct  into  the  sitting-room, 
as  the  parlor  stove  was  not  yet  up.  The  father 
and  mother  were  sitting  there,  enjoying,  evidently, 
the  genial  warmth  of  the  fire.  On  the  entrance 
the  young  man  noticed  that  the  mother  blushed 
deeply,  and  at  the  same  time  her  husband  laughed 
outright.  It  was  a  most  boisterous  laugh,  without 
evident  premeditation,  and«  appeared  to  owe  its 
origin  to  no  assignable  cause.  The  laugher  gave 
no  explanation  after  the  explosion,  but  continued 
to  look  very  much  amused,  while  the  color  in  his 


I  06  AN  EX  TRA  OIWJNA  RY  A  FFA IR. 

wife's  face  deepened.  To  the  young  man  this 
was  a  most  embarrassing  reception.  Naturally 
enough  he  felt  that  it  was  something  in  his  appear- 
ance that  excited  the  mirth  of  the  one  and  caused 
the  blushes  of  the  other.  Involuntarily  he  took 
a  hasty  survey  of  his  appearance  as  far  as  the 
circumstances  would  allow,  but  could  perceive 
nothing  therein  calculated  to  upset  the  risibilities 
of  any  man  or  unduly  agitate  the  bosom  of  any 
woman.  Still  he  was  not  at  his  ease,  and  the 
young  lady  discerning  it,  and  failing  to  understand 
the  action  of  her  parents,  proposed  euchre  as  an 
offset.  So  the  two  played,  and  the  old  gentleman 
continued  to  look  amused,  occasionally  varying  this 
accomplishment  by  facetious  winks  at  his  wife, 
whose  countenance  was  alternately  red  and  white. 
The  young  man  became  so  absorbed  in  the  game 
that  he  forgot  the  peculiarity  of  his  reception,  and 
the  young  lady,  dividing  her  attention  between 
the  cards  and  his  face,  lost  sight  of  the  trouble. 
And  so  they  played  and  played,  while  the  silence 
of  the  parents  grew  really  oppressive,  had  the 
players  but  have  known  it.  But  they  made  no 
note  of  it.  They  played  on,  and  all  interests  were 
swallowed  up  in  the  game.  An  hour  passed,  and 
then  a  half-hour  more.  It  was  now  ten  o'clock. 
As  the  hour  struck  the  old  gentleman  looked  up 
from  his  paper  in  which  he  had  been  absorbed  for 
some  little  time,  glanced  at  the  players,  then  upon 
the  face  of  his  wife,  and  immediately  went  off 
into   such   a  fit  of   suppressed  laughter  that  the 


AjV  extkaordia'ary  affair.  107 

effort  to  control  it  very  nearly  precipitated  him 
into  a  case  of  apoplexy.  Fortunately,  or  rather 
unfortunately,  the  players  did  not  notice  this 
agitation.  Had  they  looked  up  they  could  not 
have  failed  to  have  noted  the  terribly  distressed 
expression  of  the  mother's  face,  in  which  case  the 
young  man  would  have  understood  that  some 
family  misfortune  made  the  presence  of  an  out- 
sider very  unpleasant.  A  half-hour  more  passed. 
The  young  man  then  threw  down  the  cards  and 
said  he  must  go.  The  young  lady,  having  thor- 
oughly enjoyed  the  game,  felt  impelled  to  say  to 
him,  •*  Don't  be  in  a  hurry,  it  is  early  yet "  ;  and 
had  almost  uttered  the  fatal  words,  when  her 
glance  encountered  the  stony  expression  upon 
her  mother's  face,  and  the  words  died  upon  her 
lips,  while  a  thrill  of  fear  shot  through  her  heart. 
The  young  man  took  his  hat,  turned  to  bid  the 
family  a  pleasant  good-night,  when  his  gaze  fell 
upon  the  face  of  the  mother,  and  the  same  thrill 
pierced  his  heart.  He  withdrew  without  a  word, 
using  all  the  haste  possible,  and  went  up  the 
street  to  his  home  in  a  dazed  state  of  mind. 

He  learned  accidentally,  a  few  days  later,  the 
cause  of  it  all.  The  old  lady,  having  a  severe 
cold,  had  taken  precaution  to  soak  her  feet  in 
hot  water  before  retiring,  and  her  feet  were  in 
the  pail  receiving  the  proper  treatment  when  the 
young  man  was  unexpectedly  ushered  in.  As  her 
skirts  fell  over  the  vessel,  he  failed  to  note  the 
fact,    and   consequently   prolonged   his    stay   two 


io8 


MR.    COBLEIGirS  HOE 


solid  hours.  What  the  temi)erature  of  the  water 
had  become  at  that  hour  can  easily  be  imagined, 
but  what  were  the  thoughts  that  passed  through 
the  miserable  woman's  distracted  mind  during 
those  two  hours  no  one  can  fathom.  Even  she 
finds  herself  unable  to  clearly  define  them,  although 
she  has  talked  of  but  little  else  since  the  awful 
night. 


MR.    COBLEIGH'S   HOE. 

Tramps  calling  at  the  Cobleigh  mansion  have 
received  something  to  eat,  if  there  was  anything 
to  give  them.  Mrs.  Cobleigh's  mother  is  visiting 
her  son-in-law.  When  she  discovered  that  tramps 
called  and  were  fed,  she  protested  against  the 
extravagance. 

"  Why,"  said  she,  with  a  pitying  laugh,  "  I 
should  no  more  think  of  feeding  tramps  for  noth- 
ing than  of  feeding  an  army  for  nothing.  The 
good-for-nothing  lazy  things,  they  can  work  just 
as  well  as  you  can  work.  They  'd  never  get  any- 
thing out  of  me  without  doing  something  for  it,  I 
can  tell  you  that." 

"  Oh,  that  *s  well  enough  in  theory,"  observed 
the  soft-hearted  Cobleigh,  "but  it  is  too  trouble- 
some to  reduce  to  practice.  It  is  only  a  bite  we 
can  give  'em  any  way,  and  that 's  not  enough  to 
fool  around  about." 


MR.    COb LEIGH'S  HOE.  IO9 

"  That 's  the  way  with  all  men,"  retorted  his 
wife's  mother,  somewhat  impatiently.  "Anything 
to  save  trouble  is  their  motto,  it  matters  not  what 
is  the  cost.  But  I  don't  believe  that  way.  I 
believe  that  every  penny  counts,  and  that  if  you 
get  a  little  something  in  the  way  of  work  out  of 
these  vagabonds,  it  is  so  much  gain  for  yourself, 
besides  discouraging  idleness  and  vagabondism. 
Now  I  '11  take  the  next  tramp  in  hand,  and  you  '11 
see  the  effect." 

Mrs.  Cobleigh's  mother  was  as  good  as  her 
word.  The  next  tramp  who  came  along  was  a 
great  hulk  of  a  fellow,  in  quest  of  victuals.  The 
old  lady  had  found  out  in  the  mean  time  that  the 
front  walk  needed  cleaning,  and  she  told  him  if  he 
would  work  there  an  hour  she  would  give  him 
something  to  eat.  He  assented,  and  she  armed 
him  with  a  hoe. 

She  was  very  much  pleased  with  the  success  of 
her  plan,  and  said  to  her  daughter,  in  an  exulting 
tone,  "  There,  what  I  did  tell  you  V 

At  the  end  of  half  an  hour  she  went  to  the  front 
to  see  that  he  was  not  fooling  away  the  time,  and 
found  that  he  was  not.  In  fact,  he  had  made  the 
very  best  use  of  the  time,  and  was  nowhere  in 
sight.  The  old  lady  hastened  to  the  walk  and 
looked  anxiously  up  and  down  the  street,  but  the 
tramp  was  nowhere  to  be  seen. 

This  made  her  very  sick. 

Then  she  remembered  that  the  hoe  was  a  new 
one,  and  the  sickness  increased. 


no  A   MEMORY. 

Every  few  minutes  she  would  go  to  the  door 
and  cast  an  anxious  glance  to  the  walk,  but  the 
object  of  her  longing  did  not  darken  its  surface. 

Such  a  terribly  discouraged  old  lady  has  not 
been  seen  in  Danbury  in  some  time,  nor  one  so 
prone  to  rubbing  her  head  and  silent  meditation. 

Mr.  Cobleigh  has  got  another  hoe,  which  he  has 
chained  to  a  post  in  the  cellar, — a  precaution 
scarcely  necessary. 


A   MEMORY. 

It  is  evident  that  mops  have  seen  their  best 
days.  Mops,  like  many  other  dear  and  familiar 
objects,  have  had  their  vicissitudes,  and  suc- 
cumbed to  them.  The  genius  of  man,  when  first 
devoted  to  mops,  was  employed  exclusively  on  the 
handle  and  fixture.  It  was  some  years  before  it 
struck  the  mop  itself,  and  shortly  after  mop-sticks, 
which  had  always  stood  in  bundles  in  front  of  the 
hardware  stores,  now  appeared  in  barrels  with 
their  frowsy  heads  of  cotton-waste  thrust  heaven- 
ward. But  the  advance  of  the  age  in  the  improve- 
ment of  machinery  has  told  on  the  mops.  Car- 
pets and  oil-cloth,  which  once  were  confined  to  the 
parlor  and  sitting-room,  have  been  so  cheapened 
by  the  process  of  manufacture,  that  even  families 
in   very   moderate    circumstances    can   afford   to 


J   MEMORY.  Ill 

spread  them  on  about  every  floor  in  the  house. 
Then  again,  this  very  desire  to  save  the  cost  of 
labor  has  led  to  a  tendency  to  save  labor  itself, 
and  sweeping  is  found  to  be  much  easier  than 
washing.  Consequently,  mops  of  even  the  most 
improved  kind  are  rare,  while  the  mop  of  our 
mothers  is  almost,  if  not  entirely,  obsolete.  This 
familiar,  useful,  and  extremely  popular  article  in 
its  time,  was  composed  of  various  articles  of  cast- 
off  wearing  apparel.  It  might  be  a  portion  of  a 
petticoat,  a  pantaloon  leg,  a  coat  tail,  or  a  vest- 
front.  The  latter  named  was  a  prominent  ingre- 
dient. That  was  the  time  when  protuberant  brass 
buttons  were  in  vogue,  and  it  would  once  in  a 
while  happen  that  in  making  up  the  mop  one  or 
two  of  these  buttons  would  be  left  on  the  vest,  an 
omission  rarely  discovered  until  some  offending 
masculine  found  it  out  himself,  by  a  manifestation 
altogether  too  clear  to  be  disputed. 

As  a  weapon,  the  mop  of  our  mothers  was  very 
filling.  When  a  man  received  a  "lick"  across  the 
face  from  it,  he  felt  somewhat  as  if  he  had  been 
struck  by  a  torpedo  loaded  with  mud.  With  the 
decline  of  the  mop  came  the  rise  of  the  divorce 
court. 


112  AN  INTERESTING  STUDY, 


AN   INTERESTING   STUDY. 

We  never  knew  there  was  anything  particularly 
interesting  about  salve  until  last  Saturday,  when 
we  were  being  shaved.  The  salve  which  we  then 
noticed  was  embalmed  in  a  roll  of  muslin  on  the 
little  finger  of  the  left  hand  of  our  barber.  Per- 
haps there  is  no  place  where  a  salve,  about  to 
introduce  itself  to  one's  closest  attention,  can  bet- 
ter secure  that  object  than  on  the  little  finger  of 
the  left  hand  of  one's  barber.  Even  we  ourselves 
were  surprised  at  the  amount  of  interest  we  took 
in  the  matter.  It  was  simply  extraordinary.  We 
didn't  think  it  possible  that  a  small  spoonful  of 
salve  would  so  engross  one  in  these  days  of  strik- 
ing and  wonderful  performances.  We  did  n't  learn 
what  was  the  trouble  with  his  finger.  We  might 
have  found  out  by  asking,  but  it  was  not  a  time 
for  conversation.  We  left  the  imagination  to  toy 
with  this  subject.  There  was  no  opportunity  to 
observe  the  color  of  the  salve,  as  the  rag  hid  that, 
but  the  color  did  not  interest  us.  No,  it  was  not 
the  color.  But  the  color  of  the  rag  was  evident 
enough  at  a  glance.  It  might  be  described  as  a 
three-days'-old  tint.  The  rag  was  fastened  by 
thread.  One  end  of  the  thread  dangled  to  the 
length  of  about  two  inches.  When  the  invalid 
finger  was  elevated  to  within  that  height,  the 
thread  playfully   trolled  our  nose.      This  tickled 


COMMEMORATING   OUR  NATIONALITY.       113 

that  organ  amazingly.  Then  the  afflicted  finger 
would  descend  until  it  displaced  the  thread  with 
itself,  and  this  would  immediately  knock  endways 
all  the  hilarity  created  by  the  titillation  of  the 
thread,  —  thus  alternating  between  the  hill-tops 
of  delight  and  the  valleys  of  gloom.  The  usual 
twenty  minutes  seemed  to  extend  into  hours,  and 
a  feature  of  materia  medica  that  never  before 
attracted  our  least  attention  was  now  and  forever 
firmly  planted  on  an  orchestral  chair  in  the  inner 
temple  of  our  very  existence. 


COMMEMORATING   OUR   NATIONALITY. 

The  Southerners,  who  make  a  quiet  festival  of 
the  Fourth  of  July,  and  shoot  off  fire-works  at 
Christmas,  are  a  trifle  more  sensible  than  we. 
Still,  the  most  of  us  believe  we  celebrate  in  a 
very  happy  way,  until,  at  least,  the  day  is  done. 
It  appears  that  the  general  idea  in  the  North  of 
an  appropriate  observance  of  the  natal  anniver- 
sary is  to  dress  up,  make  a  noise,  or  get  drunk. 
The  man  who  does  n't  get  drunk  or  make  a  noise 
goes  on  a  picnic.  Once  in  a  while  he  stays  home, 
darkens  the  best  ventilated  room,  disrobes  to  his 
gauze  under-clothing,  and  smokes  away  the  day. 
When  he  does  this  he  is  a  god  on  a  solid  gold  pad- 


114     COMMEMORATING   OUR  NATIONALITY 

estal.  The  four  prominent  ingredients  of  a  popular 
Fourth  are  Starch,  Ice-cream,  Gin,  and  Powder. 
The  starch  leads  off.  Between  the  hours  of  eight 
and  ten  a.  m.,  the  starched  linen  of  the  men  and 
the  starched  skirts  of  the  women  are  seen  on  their 
way  to  the  picnic  ground.  To  the  lightly  attired 
man  on  the  inside  of  the  window-blind  it  is  a 
cheerful  and  hopeful  spectacle.  The  flushed  and 
expectant  faces,  the  quick  step,  the  rustle  of  the 
starched  goods,  blend  happily  together.  There  is  so 
much  promise  of  a  good  time,  so  much  suggestive  of 
portentous  events  in  their  appearance,  as  to  make 
the  observation  of  them  an  interesting  study. 
Their  coming  back  at  night  is  a  contrast  of  appall- 
ing magnitude.  The  starch  has  gone,  the  enthu- 
siasm has  oozed  out,  children  that  had  to  be 
repressed  at  morn  now  have  to  be  stimulated  to 
get  them  ahead ;  dissatisfaction,  weariness,  and 
disgust  predominate.  The  anxiety  to  get  away  is 
replaced  by  an  anxiety  to  get  back.  Their  appear- 
ance is  so  depressing  as  to  cause  the  observer  to 
doubt  if  there  ever  had  been  a  morning  to  this 
day.  It  is  noticeable  on  the  Fourth  of  July  that 
the  size  of  one's  family,  and  the  youthfulness  of 
the  members,  determine  the  distance  of  the  picnic. 
A  man  with  no  children  stays  at  home  ;  with  one 
or  two  children  he  goes  to  a  neighboring  grove ; 
with  five  children  he  goes  off  on  the  cars;  with 
more  than  that  number  he  includes  a  steamboat 
trip  wdth  the  railway  excursion.  The  amount  of 
ice-cream,  root   beer,    soda-water,  and    lemonade 


A    GREA  T  SHOCK.  1 1 S 

disposed  of  by  a  temperance  family  on  the  Fourth 
of  July  is  wonderful.  The  country  itself  was  not 
in  near  so  frightful  a  condition  on  the  first  Fourth 
as  the  American  temperance  stomach  was  on  the 
last. 

Early  in  the  dawn  of  the  day  following  the 
intemperate  man  is  looking  for  an  eye-opener,  and 
the  temperate  man  is  on  a  dead  run  for  a  doctor 


A  GREAT   SHOCK. 

When  the  news  of  the  "  Adelphi's  "  explosion 
reached  Danbury,  a  citizen,  whose  wife  started  for 
New  York  that  morning  by  way  of  the  boat,  took 
the  first  train  for  Norwalk.  He  was  very  much  ex- 
cited, and  full  of  the  direst  apprehension.  The  pic- 
ture of  the  mutilated  and  lifeless  body  of  his  wife 
was  burned  upon  his  heart  and  brain.  They  had 
never,  at  the  best,  been  a  very  loving  couple,  but 
they  were  eminently  respectable.  In  fact,  so 
respectable,  that  neither  had  seen  fit  to  give  up  to 
the  other  except  in  cases  where  it  was  absolutely 
necessary.  He  had  pursued  his  way,  and  she  had 
gone  hers,  each  finding  pleasure  in  characteristic 
channels.  But  now,  with  the  presence  of  her 
death  upon  him,  the  old  tenderness  with  which 
he  had  won  her  came  back  to  him,  and  during 
that   long   and   dreary    ride    to    the    seaside    his 


Il6  A    GREAT  SHOCK. 

thoughts  were  busy  with  the  past.  He  could 
recall  with  painful  distinctness  every  help  he  had 
refused  her,  every  cross  word  he  had  given  her, 
every  coldness  he  had  shown  her.  All  the  little 
acts  governed  by  petty  selfishness,  of  which  he  had 
been  guilty,  and  which  had  passed  from  his  mem- 
ory in  the  doing,  now  rose  up  before  him,  as  deeds 
of  monstrosity  in  whose  presence  his  heart  shrank 
tremblingly  away. 

His  mind  was  torn  by  these  agonizing  reflec- 
tions. He  cursed  the  day  he  had  ever  been  to  her 
aught  but  a  keenly  sympathizing  husband.  Her 
own  faults  were  lost  sight  of  in  the  horror  of  her 
tragic  fate,  and  he  could  only  see  his  own  offend- 
ing. And  so  the  moments  dragged  along,  each 
one  taking  him  nearer  to  the  dread  possibility,  and 
each  one  increasing  the  anguish  of  his  heart. 

At  last  the  train  reached  Norwalk.  He  hur- 
ried out  on  his  wretched  search,  asking  here  and 
there  for  intelligence  of  her,  his  white  lips  and 
trembling  frame  testifying  most  eloquently  to  his 
anxiety.  At  last  his  search  was  rewarded,  and  he 
found  her ;  not  dead  and  mutilated,  but  alive  and 
unharmed. 

It  was  a  happy  meeting,  —  not  demonstrative, 
because  both  were  sorely  out  of  practice  in  that, 
but  he  was  relieved  of  a  terrible  weight  on  finding 
her  as  he  did. 

"  So  you  are  all  right } "  he  said. 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  "I  ain't  hurt  a  bit,  but  I 
was  terribly  frightened." 


A    GREAT  SHOCK.  117 

"  You  must  have  been,  —  horribly  so.  It  was  a 
terribly  narrow  escape.     Where's  your  satchel.'*" 

"  I  don't  know.  I  think  it  must  have  blown 
overboard." 

"  Did  n't  you  have  it  with  you  .'  " 

"  No,  I  left  it  on  a  bench,  and  had  gone  to  the 
front  of  the  boat  to  look  out  on  the  water  when 
the  explosion  came." 

"  That  was  dreadfully  careless.  I  don't  see  what 
you  could  have  been  thinking  of  to  have  gone  off 
and  left  your  satchel  like  that." 

"Why,  I  never  had  a  thought  the  boat  was 
going  to  blow  up,  did  I .''  " 

"  It  don't  make  any  difference,"  he  per.sisted:_ 
"  Some  one  would  have  stolen  it,  as  likely  as  not, 
if  the  boat  hadn't  blown  up.  There  is  no  sense 
in  it  anyway,  and  it  was  a  foolish  thing  to  do.  I 
don't  suppose  there's  any  use  to  go  looking  for  it 
now." 

"I  know  there  ain't,"  she  answered,  "because 
I  was  sitting  right  where  the  boat  blowed  out, 
because  it  was  warm  there." 

"  Well,  it  can't  be  helped,  I  suppose,  but  it  is 
too  bad.  The  next  time  you  go  away  you  '11  show 
more  sense,  I  hope,  than  to  go  gallivanting  all 
over  a  boat  without  your  satchel." 


[l8  A.V  JIEIRLOOM. 


AN   HEIRLOOM. 

When  you  were  a  boy  there  was  a  dust  brush 
in  common  use  which  is  now  rarely  seen.  It  was 
a  long  brush,  one  third  handle,  and  the  bristle 
spread  out  from  the  back,  which  was  rounding. 
Mr.  Cobleigh's  wife's  mother  has  one  of  these 
brushes.  She  was  visiting  the  Cobleighs  last 
week,  and  she  brought  it  with  her  to  give  to  her 
daughter.  She  told  Cobleigh  that  that  brush  had 
been  in  her  family  forty  years,  and  was  now  about 
as  good  as  new,  as  Mr.  Cobleigh  could  see  by 
looking  at  it.  Its  excellent  condition  was  jointly 
due  to  her  care  and  to  that  honesty  in  manufacture 
which  so  eminently  prevailed  when  our  parents 
were  younj.  The  old  lady  said  that  that  brush 
would  now  outwear  four  of  the  new-fangled  brushes, 
and  do  the  work  more  thoroughly.  Mr.  Cobleigh 
obligingly  conceded  all  this,  and  tried  to  look 
agreeable,  but  there  was  a  gloomy  expression 
which  he  could  not  shake  off,  and  which  he  could 
not,  to  save  his  life,  define.  That  evening  Mr. 
Cobleigh  was  descending  the  cellar  stairs  with  a 
lamp  in  one  hand  and  a  pitcher  in  the  other, 
when  he  unexpectedly  stepped  on  the  back  of  this 
brush,  which  turning  over,  as  this  kind  of  brush 
always  does,  he  was  escorted  into  the  cellar  with 
appalling  celerity.  The  lamp  being  extinguished 
by  the  shock,  Mr.  Cobleigh  was  obliged  to  pass 


AN  HEIRLOOM.  IIQ 

headlong  over  two  barrels  and  a  box  in  the  dark- 
ness, but  succeeded  as  well  in  doing  it,  and  in 
getting  his  head  and  nearly  half  his  body  through 
a  step-ladder,  as  if  he  had  been  operating  in  the 
glare  of  a  calcium  light.  For  a  moment  he  lay  in 
the  warm  embrace  of  the  step-ladder,  as  if  in  a 
trance,  and  in  that  time  his  wife  and  her  mother 
were  brought  to  the  scene  by  the  crash. 

What  Mrs.  Cobleigh  said  was,  — 

"  My  goodness  !  have  you  hurt  you  }  " 

What  her  mother  said  was,  — 

"  How  did  you  come  to  do  it .''  " 

What  Mr.  Cobleigh  himself  said  is  hardly  proper 
to  print. 

He  marched  up  stairs  with  the  step-ladder  on 
him,  as  it  was  utterly  impossible  for  the  women 
to  free  him  from  it,  and  it  required  the  efforts  of 
two  strong  men  and  a  hammer  to  get  the  twain 
apart.  It  was  long  toward  morning  before  Mr. 
Cobleigh  spoke  again,  and  then  he  said  to  the 
doctor,  — 

"When  I  first  saw  that  brush  I  felt  a  dreadful 
sick  feeling  go  all  over  me.  Fool  that  I  was,  not 
to  remember  the  devilish  nature  of  that  kind  of 
brush !  " 

Mrs.  Cobleigh's  mother  has  gone  back  home 
and  taken  the  precious  heirloom  with  her. 


120    A  REJECTED  LOVER'S  FEARFUL  REVENGE. 


A   REJECTED  LOVER'S    FEARFUL   REVENGE. 

In  spite  of  all  that  has  been  done  in  the  last 
fifty  years  to  improving  the  channel,  the  course  of 
true  love  is  still  uncertain  in  places.  An  incident 
indicative  of  this,  although  somewhat  out  of  the 
usual  line,  occurred  in  Danbury  recently.  There 
were  two  suitors  for  a  young  woman's  affections. 
No.  I  was  first  acquainted  with  her,  and  had 
kept  pretty  steady  company  Ayith  her  through  the 
past  month,  when  No.  2  appeared.  The  latter 
very  soon  got  the  best  hold,  and  this  became 
apparent  to  the  former.  The  young  lady  gave 
herself  up  to  No.  i,  until  the  day  after  the 
Fourth,  when  she  suddenly  and  rather  decidedly 
veered  about  to  the  stranger,  w^ho  is  new  in  town, 
learning  the  jewelry  business.  No.  i  was  forgot- 
ten as  easily,  apparently,  as  if  he  had  been  an 
old  debt.  It  was  the  night  of  the  fifth  that  this 
change  in  feeling  dawned  upon  him.  He  had  pur- 
chased a  quart  of  new  apples,  and  taken  them  to 
her  house.  There  was  company  present  on  his 
arrival,  and  he  requested  to  see  her  privately  in 
the  hall.  She  complied  with  a  reluctance  that 
struck  him  as  being  singular. 

"Here  is  something  for  you,  Julia,"  he  whis* 
pered,  extending  the  package. 

She  colored  slightly,  as  she  said,  — 

"  I  cannot  take  it,  thank  you." 


A  REJECTED  L  O  VER'S  FEA  RFUL  RE  VENCE.      1 2 1 

"But  you  don't  know  what  it  is,"  he  urged.  "  It 
is  a  quart  of  new  apples,  just  come  in  market." 

She  made  no  move. 

"  Why,  Julia,  take  them.  They  won't  hurt  you. 
They  are  ripe." 

"  No,  I  must  n't,"  she  persisted,  keeping  her 
eyes  cast  down. 

"Why  not.?"  he  pleaded.  "You  don't  think 
I  'd  bring  'em  up  here  if  I  thought  they  would 
hurt  you,  do  you  .''" 

She  moved  uneasily,  but  said  nothing. 

"Julia,"  he  began,  in  a  broken  voice,  "don't 
you  believe  me  when  I  tell  you  they  are  ripe  .-* " 

She  did  not  answer. 

"  Can  it  be  possible,"  he  continued,  in  a  voice 
of  pain,  "that  you  believe  that  I  would  try  to 
make  you  sick  .-*  that  I  'd  bring  anything  up  here 
that  would  upset  you  .''  " 

"  The  company  are  waiting,  and  I  must  go  back 
to  them,"  she  said,  speaking  in  a  constrained 
tone,  and  reaching  out  to  the  handle  of  the  parlor 
door. 

"  You  won't  take  them  .?"  He  was  very  white, 
and  his  voice  trembled  with  suppressed  passion. 

"No." 

"  Then  I  '11  go  home  and  eat  every  goldarned 
one  of  'em  before  I  touch  my  bed,  if  they  kill  me 
deader  than  Goliar."  And  with  this  ferocious 
threat  he  bounced  out  of  the  house. 

Whether  he  did  as  he  promised  is  not  known, 
but  as  he  was  around  on  the  street  the  next  day, 


122     A  REJECTED  LOVER'S  FEARFUL  REVENGE. 

it  is  more  than  likely  that  wiser  thoughts  pre- 
vailed. 

That  afternoon  he  started  for  her  house,  to  see 
if  the  dreadful  thing  was  true  that  that  jeweller, 
whom  he  designated  by  the  prefix  of  "pole-legs," 
had  really  supplanted  him.  As  he  neared  the  house 
he  saw,  with  anger,  that  the  jeweller  was  there, 
playing  croquet  with  Julia.  The  sight  maddened 
him.  For  a  moment  he  looked  at  them  with 
clinched  hands,  then  he  hurried  away  with  a 
gleam  in  his  eye  that  denoted  a  storm.  In  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  he  was  again  approaching  the 
place.  He  had  both  hands  in  the  pockets  of 
his  sack,  as  if  he  was  holding  on  to  something 
valuable.  The  dapper  young  jeweller  was  still 
engaged  in  the  game  with  the  fair  young  Julia, 
and  their  laughing  remarks  grated  distastefully 
upon  his  ear.  He  marched  straight  in  to  the 
yard.  Julia  looked  up  and  saw  him,  and  a  frown 
covered  her  face.  He  saw  it,  and  understood  its 
import  at  once.  His  own  face  grew  black  with 
wrath.     He  turned  to  her. 

"Julia,  have  you  given  me  up  for  this  cuss .-' " 
he  savagely  inquired. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  such  language  as 
that.-*"  she  angrily  demanded.  While  the  party 
thus  indelicately  indicated  stared  at  the  new- 
comer as  if  he  very  much  doubted  his  own  exist- 
ence. 

"Just  what  I  say,"  retorted  the  discarded  one. 

"Well,    the   quicker  you   leave   this   yard   the 


A  REJECTED  LOVER'S  FEARFUL  REVENGE       123 

better   you  '11   please   me,"    was   the   spiteful    re- 
joinder from  the  fair  one. 

"Then  it's  true,  it's  true,"  he  howled,  in  a 
voice  of  anguish.  "  She  has  left  me  for  old  pole- 
legs.  Oh  !  "  This  with  a  sudden  reversal  of  tone, 
as  the  name  brought  up  a  realization  of  the  hated 
presence.  "You  are  the  one  that's  done  it,  are 
you.'  "  Turning  in  a  rage  upon  his  rival.  "You 
are  the  scoundrel  that  left  me  to  buy  her  things 
for  a  whole  month,  to  get  her  sweetened  up  for 
yoii,  and  then  you  come  in  an'  take  her  to  yourself. 
Where  were  you  on  the  Fourth .' "  he  screamed 
with  biting  sarcasm.  "Why  did  n't  you  show 
yourself  when  there  was  money  to  spend,  an' 
things  to  show  her  that  cost  cash  down.  Where 
were  you  when  the  ice-cream  ah'  cake  was  around  } 
Oh,  you  old  gimlet  eye ! "  he  added,  suddenly 
removing  one  hand  from  the  recesses  of  a  pocket 
and  hurling  a  raw  ^^g  full  in  the  face  of  his  rival, 
which,  breaking  in  the  contact,  completely  trans- 
formed the  entire  expression  of  the  jeweller. 
"Where  were  you  .-^  I  say,"  he  yelled,  dancing 
around  and  drawing  forth  another  Q.g%.  At  the 
advent  of  this  awful  article.  Miss  Julia  scampered 
into  the  house,  and  the  affrighted  and  almost 
blinded  rival  struck  out  wildly  for  escape ;  but 
the  foe  was  after  him,  and  not  ten  feet  had  been 
cleared  when  the  second  Q.gg  caught  him  between 
the  shoulders,  and  sprinkled  its  glowing  color 
over  his  back.  The  unfortunate  man  ran  with  all 
his  might   seeking  for  escape,  but  baffled  in  the 


124     A  REJECTED  LOVER'S  FEARFUL  REVENGE. 

search.  He  flew  over  the  vegetables,  and  darted 
around  the  trees,  but  the  avenger  kept  close  to 
him,  plastering  him  with  omelets,  and  plying  him 
with  questions  like  this  :  — 

"  Where  were  you  on  the  Fourth  ? " 

Egg. 

"  Where  were  you  when  there  was  money  to  be 
spent  ? " 

Egg. 

"Kept  away,  did  you,  till  the  Fourth  was  over, 
the  costliest  day  in  the  year  ? " 

Fo-o- 

■^&&- 

"  Knew  cream  was  up  that  day,  did  you  ?  " 

Egg. 

And  the  eggs  flew  with  all  the  vengeance  an 
unrequited  affection  could  impart  to  them.  And 
the  unhappy  Julia,  standing  in  a  trance  of  horror 
at  the  window,  saw  her  favored  one  pelted  in  the 
back,  in  the  side,  on  the  head,  and  against  the 
legs  ;  saw  him  tear  through  the  shrubbery  like  a 
winged  omelet ;  saw  the  golden  liquid  stream 
from  his  hair,  his  chin,  his  coat-tails,  and  his  fin- 
ger-tips ;  saw  him  shed  scrambled  eggs,  chromos, 
and  circus  posters  at  every  jump  ;  saw  him  finally 
bound  over  the  back  fence,  and  sweep  across  the 
back  lots  like  a  simoon  of  biliousness,  and  then 
she  gave  a  scream  and  fainted  dead  away. 


BRIGHT  TRADE  PROSPECTS.  12$ 


BRIGHT   TRADE   PROSPECTS. 

He  is  a  small  man,  rather  dapper  in  appearance, 
with  a  propitiary  air  in  his  clothes,  in  his  face,  and 
even  in  the  fringe  of  hair  which  encircles  his  head 
without  covering  it.  His  wife  is  a  large  woman, 
of  course,  with  a  red  face  and  an  aggressive  air. 
He  went  out  to  the  vegetable  pedler  this  morning, 
with  a  large  tin  pan,  to  make  purchases.  It  was 
the  first  time  the  pedler  had  seen  him  come  to 
trade.  There  were  several  women,  neighbors,  at 
the  wagon.  He  came  up  to  the  cart,  and  looked 
critically  over  the  array  of  fruits  and  vegetables. 

"  How  much  are  those  cucumbers  .''  "  he  asked. 

"  Five  cents." 

He  lifted  one  of  them,  said  they  were  fine-look- 
ing, and  then  asked,  — 

"  How  much  is  that  lettuce  a  head  }  " 

"Ten  cents." 

"That  is  cheap  enough.  And  now  let  me  see," 
he  said,  slowly.  "Ah,  there's  watermelons,  eh. !* 
Why,  they  are  early  enough,  I  'm  sure.  How  much 
are  they  ^ " 

"  Seventy-five  cents  apiece,"  said  the  dealer, 
who,  seeing  that  his  customer  was  no  ordinary 
party,  began  to  stir  himself  about.  "They  are 
fresh  melons,  just  got  them  last  night,  and  every 
one  of  them  is  fully  ripe.     I  '11  guarantee  that." 


126  BRIGHT  TRADE  PROSPECTS. 

"Fully  ripe,  eh?"  said  the  customer,  fondling 
the  article. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  the  dealer,  getting  up  on  his 
feet,  in  the  flush  of  expectation. 

"They  look  ripe,"  coincided  the  customer. 
Then  he  looked  around  and  spied  another  attrac- 
tive article. 

"  Peaches,  eh  .''  Well,  I  declare  !  How  natural 
and  good  they  look.     How  much  for  the  peaches } 

"  Thirty  cents  a  quart,"  said  the  dealer,  men- 
tally figuring  up  the  total  of  half  a  dozen  cucum- 
bers, a  couple  of  heads  of  lettuce,  a  watermelon,  and 
a  quart  of  peaches,  while  the  women  at  the  cart 
opened  their  eyes  in  wonder,  and  stood  silently 
by,  awed  by  the  magnitude  of  the  transaction. 

"  Only  thirty  cents,"  mused  he.  "  Why,  that 's 
reasonable  enough,  I  take  it,  in  these  times.  Let 
me  see,  — five  cents  a  piece  for  the  cucumbers,  ten 
cents  for  the  lettuce,  seventy-five  cents  for  a 
watermelon,  thirty  cents  for  —  " 

"Joseph  Malachia !  "  came  a  sharp,  loud  voice, 
through  a  spitefully  opened  door,  "  are  you  going 
to  get  what  I  sent  you  after,  or  are  you  going  to 
stand  out  there  all  day  .''  " 

"Gimme  ten  cents' worth  new  potatoes,"  gasped 
the  man,  nervously  opening  the  hand  he  had  kept 
shut,  and  disclosing  anew  dime.    "Quick,  please !" 


THE  MONTH  OF  ROSES.  127 


THE  MONTH  OF  ROSES. 

June  is  the  month  of  love,  joy,  and  August 
that  of  its  agony.  In  June  two  hearts  knit  to- 
gether and  become  one.  In  August  two  bodies 
separate.  She  goes  away  to  see  her  mother's 
aunt  in  the  country,  and  he  stays  at  home,  work- 
ing the  treadmill  of  duty.  This  comes  hard  on 
all  men,  but  its  weight  is  the  heaviest  on  the  gro- 
cery clerk.  His  heart  is  not  in  his  work.  How 
can  it  be  .-'  Where  the  treasure  is  there  will  the 
heart  be  also,  and  his  treasure  is  far  away.  He 
cannot  smile  on  the  customer.  He  cannot  coun- 
terfeit successfully  that  expression  of  all-absorbing 
interest  which  makes  a  clerkship  a  thing  of  beauty. 
Certainly  his  is  a  most  critical  task.  The  variety 
and  diversity  of  the  articles  in  which  he  deals 
require  that  he  should  keep  his  wits  about  him. 
In  this  particular  he  is  in  almost  as  much  danger 
as  the  drug  clerk,  while  the  opportunities  for  slip- 
ping are  a  hundred-fold.  A  Danbury  man  who 
went  to  a  drug  store  to  have  a  prescription  pre- 
pared, seeing  nobody  but  a  clerk  present,  said,  — 

"Young  man,  are  you  keeping  company  with  a 
girl?" 

"  Yes,  sir,"  answered  the  clerk,  with  a  blush. 

"  Do  you  think  the  world  of  her?" 

*'  I  do,"  said  the  clerk,  firmly,  although  blushing 
considerably. 


128  THE  MONTH  OF  ROSES. 

"Is  she  in  town?"  pursued  the  customer  anx- 
iously. 

"  No,  sir,  she  is  away  on  a  visit." 

"That  will  do,"  said  the  man,  decisively.  "You 
can't  fool  around  any  prescription  for  me."  And 
he  went  away. 

But  it  is  the  grocery  clerk  who  has  to  struggle 
from  early  morn  till  late  at  night  with  a  flood  of 
annoyances.  When  he  dips  into  the  sugar  barrel 
he  thinks  of  her  lips,  and  sighs ;  in  cutting  the 
cheese  he  is  reminded  of  the  strength  of  his  devo- 
tion to  her ;  and  when  he  looks  into  the  butter  fir- 
kin his  thoughts  stray  to  her  hair.  When  he 
would  go  away  by  himself  and  give  expression  to 
his  emotions,  he  is  obliged  to  help  lift  a  barrel  of 
corned  beef,  or  roll  a  cask  of  salt,  or  open  a  case 
of  lard.  It  is  only  when  he  is  dealing  out  mack- 
erel that  he  feels  as  if  he  had  a  companion  in  his 
sorrow,  a  sympathizer  in  grief.  There  is  that  soft- 
ened, subdued  light  in  the  eye  of  a  salt  mackerel 
which  touches  a  responsive  chord  in  the  heart  of 
suffering,  and  awakens  it  to  plaintive  melody. 
How  tenderly  he  lifts  it  from  the  kit,  how  lovingly 
he  lingers  in  wrapping  it  up.  Poor  fellow  !  He 
may  put  up  washing  starch  for  baking  powder, 
draw  molasses  in  the  kerosene  can,  and  even 
attempt  to  palm  off  various  things  for  tea.  He 
may  do  this.  It  is  more  than  likely  that  he  will. 
But  the  expression  of  a  mackerel's  e)e  will  not 
change.  The  softened,  subdued  light  of  sympa- 
thy still  remains. 


TfVO  SCENES.  129 


TWO   SCENES. 

An  Ordinary  Scene.  —  A  chill  strikes  him  as 
soon  as  he  enters  the  yard.  There  are  two  lengths 
of  stove-pipe  and  a  roll  of  oil-cloth  on  the  side  stoop. 
He  takes  hold  of  the  door  to  open  it,  when  he 
finds  it  resists  his  act,  and,  peering  through  the 
sash,  he  sees  there  is  a  pile  of  carpet  against  it. 
By  steady  pushing  he  moves  the  mass  sufficiently 
to  permit  of  his  squeezing  his  body  through.  The 
noise  brings  his  wife  to  the  scene.  She  appears 
in  a  dress  that  he  had  fondly  hoped  was,  ere  this, 
in  the  carpet  rags.  It  is  limpy,  and  wet,  and 
torn,  and  bedraggled.  The  sleeves  are  rolled  up, 
exposing  a  pair  of  very  red  arms  vividly  sugges- 
tive of  suds  and  steam  and  general  wetness. 
There  is  a  cloth  tied  about  her  head,  and  soot  on 
the  face,  but  nothing  in  the  countenance  indic- 
ative of  love,  sweetness,  or  dinner.  She  having 
inquired  what  on  earth  made  him  come  home  so 
early,  and  he  having  replied  that  he  supposed  she 
expected  he  could  live  forever  without  eating,  the 
conversation  is  dropped,  and  she  returns  to  the 
preparation  of  his  dinner,  and  he  looks  around. 
Every  step  is  on  a  bare  floor,  and  gives  forth  a 
gloomy  reverberation.  The  dining-room  floor  is 
damp.  The  table  is  buried  from  sight  in  a  mass 
of  knick-knacks  and  dishes.  He  passes  into  the 
parlor.     Everything  is  gone  from  it,  excepting  a 


130  riVO   SCENES. 

pail  of  suds  and  a  woman  who  looks  as  if  she  had 
just  been  wrung  from  it.  The  windows  are  open, 
and  the  air  is  cold  and  wet.  He  falls  back  from 
there  with  a  shiver,  taking  time  to  note  with  sur- 
prise the  discolored  condition  of  the  walls,  and 
seeks  the  bedroom  for  refuge  and  a  wash,  but 
pauses,  when  inside  the  door,  in  dumb  amazement, 
not  unmixed  with  dismay.  Seven  chairs,  myste- 
riously stacked,  bar  his  way  effectually  to  the 
washstand.  There  is  the  bed,  with  a  picture  of 
Washington  laying  on  his  patriotic  back,  with  the 
family  Bible,  a  saucer  of  tacks,  and  a  hammer  on 
his  stomach,  while  from  amid  a  collection  of  books, 
frames,  vases,  ornaments,  casters,  and  old  papers, 
his  eyes  peer  upward  in  helpless  astonishment. 
Then  there  is  the  bureau,  with  its  top  clear  of 
comb  or  brush,  and  the  mirror  coated  with  dust. 
To  cap  all,  the  window  is  open,  and  the  damp, 
chill  air  of  the  season  floats  in  and  sets  off  the 
general  desolation  to  the  best  advantage.  The 
miserable  man  backs  away  and  seeks  shelter  in 
the  kitchen,  where  the  stove  sends  up  a  cloud  of 
steam,  and  watches  his  wife  as  she  slices  his  bread 
and  meat,  fills  the  dipper  half  full  of  cold  water, 
slaps  a  hunk  of  butter  on  a  cracker  —  improvised 
into  a  plate — and  sets  the  whole  on  the  bread- 
board over  the  sink,  and  tells  him  to  swallow  it 
down  as  quick  as  possible,  as  there  are  carpets  to 
beat,  pipe  to  clean,  a  bureau  to  move,  and  a  stove 
to  set  up,  before  he  goes  back.  Buoyed  up  by 
this  prospect,  he  braces  up  in  front  of  the  repast, 


TWO   SCENES.  131 

and  proceeds  to  worry  it  down,  feeling  that  every 
mouthful  has  an  escort  of  steam  and  soap.  How- 
ever wretched  may  look  the  woman  who  is  grum- 
bling, and  brushing,  and  slapping  all  around  him, 
she  is  dressed  appropriately,  and  consequently  is 
neatly  adjusted  to.  the  situation,  while  he,  on  the 
contrary,  is  an  incongruous  element  in  the  scene. 
He  feels  this  as  he  looks  over  his  neat  dress  and 
around  the  disordered  room,  and  his  clothes,  in 
their  order,  appear  to  rise  up  in  noisy  rebuke  to 
the  chaos  about  him.  He  feels  as  if  he  was  in 
active  but  helpless  rebellion  against  his  surround- 
ings, and  this  causes  him  to  grow  more  submissive 
as  the  meal  advances,  and  to  swallow  every  mouth- 
ful with  a  sort  of  apologetic  gulp,  and  an  air  of 
general  propitiation. 

And  yet  it  is  in  the  springtime,  with  long  im- 
prisoned nature  leaping  forth  into  new  life,  with 
opening  buds  and  maturing  blossoms  ;  with  sing- 
ing birds  and  glad  sunshine  ;  and  the  air  quivering 
with  triumphant  song,  and  full  of  subtle  fragrance. 

However  it  does  n't  seem  possible. 

An  Extraordinary  Scene.  -^  Second  Super- 
visor Reynolds  came  into  this  office  a  trifle  before 
six  o'clock  Tuesday  evening,  and  said,  — 

"  My  wife  is  house-cleaning  to-day,  and  I  want 
you  to  go  to  tea  with  me." 

We  could  only  stare  at  him  with  all  our  might. 

"You  don't  know  what  to  make  of  it,  eh  .'' "  he 
added,  pleasantly.     "  I  don't  suppose  you  do,  but 


132  TIVO  SCENES. 

I  want  to  show  you  something  that  has  never 
before  entered  into  your  philosophy.  You  have 
written  a  great  deal  of  the  misery  of  house-clean- 
ing, and  I  have  no  doubt  there  is  a  great  deal  of 
misery  in  it  in  the  most  of  homes,  but  not  in 
mine.  Now,  when  I  left  home  this  morning  the 
house  was  in  its  usual  order,  and  my  wife  said  to 
me,  'Josiah,  I  'm  going  to  clean  house  to-day,' 
says  she,  '  and  I  want  you  to  get  your  dinner  at  a 
restaurant ;  but  to-night,'  says  she,  '  you  come  to 
tea,  and  everything  will  be  at  rights,'  says  she. 
So  I  am  going  to  tea  now,  and  I  've  come  after 
you  to  show  you  a  light  in  the  gloom,  as  it 
were." 

"  But  are  you  sane  enough  to  believe  that  a 
house  can  be  cleaned  in  a  day,  and  at  night  the 
supper  not  be  served  in  the  sink.-*" 

"  Certainly." 

"  And  that  there  will  not  even  be  a  bare,  wet 
floor.?" 

"  Certainly." 

"  Nor  even  a  teacup  half  full  of  tacks  on  the 


piano 


"  Certainly." 

Hardly  knowing  what  we  were  doing,  we  got  on 
our  coat  and  hat,  and  mechanically  accompanied 
Mr.  Reynolds  home. 

On  reaching  there  he  opened  the  door  without 
hesitation.  The  hat-rack  was  in  its  i^lace.  We 
hung  our  coats  and  hats  upon  it,  and  passed  into 
the  dining-room.     The  table  was  ready,  and  Mrs. 


TIFO  SCE.VES.  133 

Reynolds,  in  a  blue  dress,  with  a  white  bibbed 
apron,  was  there,  smiling  most  sweetly. 

"  Come  and  see  my  house,"  she  said. 

We  passed  into  the  sitting-room,  then  into  the 
parlor,  and  took  a  look  into  the  bedroom.  Every- 
thing was  in  shape.  Carpets  down,  pictures  and 
curtains  up,  and  every  article  of  ornament  in  posi- 
tion. Except  for  the  bright  walls,  glistening  paint, 
and  clean  windows,  one  would  have  thought  no 
disarranging  hand  had  ever  been  there.  We  were 
taken  into  the  kitchen,  and  shown  the  china  closet. 
Everything  was  clean  and  bright,  and  in  its  proper 
place.  The  rooms  on  the  upper  floor  were,  she 
assured  us,  completely  rejuvenated,  and  in  shape. 

At  the  table  she  explained  it  all,  while  she 
served  the  tea.     She  said,  — 

"  I  engaged  four  women  and  one  man.  I  knew 
that  with  this  help  properly  managed  I  could  get 
through  the  work  in  one  day,  and  I  thought  it 
would  be  much  better  to  hire  extra  help,  and  do  it 
all  in  one  day,  than  with  less  help  to  have  it  spread 
over  three  or  four  days.  At  7.30  this  morning  we 
were  ready  to  commence.  The  carpets  on  this 
floor  were  all  taken  up,  and  the  man  took  them 
out  into  the  yard  to  beat.  The  furniture  and 
ornaments  were  piled  in  this  room.  At  8.30  that 
was  done.  At  i  r  o'clock  the  windows,  walls,  and 
floors  were  washed.  The  women  then  went  up 
stairs  and  did  the  same  with  the  bedrooms,  get- 
ting done  at  2  o'clock,  with  an  hour  for  dinner. 
From   that    time   till  3   o'clock   the   dishes  were 


134  HOW  TO  STOP  A    HORSE. 

taken  down,  and  the  shelves  and  the  dishes 
cleaned.  At  3.30  the  kitchen  floor  and  windows 
were  taken  care  of.  At  5  o'clock  the  carpets  on 
this  floor  were  put  down,  the  pictures  and  curtains 
up,  and  the  furniture  arranged  by  the  women. 
The  man,  at  the  same  time,  was  to  work  up  stairs. 
They  then  went  up  there  to  help  him,  and  at  a 
quarter  to  six  I  paid  the  five  people  two  dollars, 
each,  and  discharged  them.     And  that 's  all." 

"Yes,   that's  all,   thank  heaven!"   added  Mr 
Reynolds,  reverently. 


HOW  TO   STOP   A   HORSE. 

One  of  Danbury's  peculiar  features  is  the  elas- 
ticity of  the  legs  and  the  uncertainty  of  the  tem- 
per of  its  horses.  It  is  safe  to  affirm  that  there 
are  more  runaway  horses  to  the  square  inch  in 
Danbury,  than  to  the  square  inch  elsewhere.  It 
follows,  therefore,  that  any  device  looking  to  the 
mitigation  of  the  evfl,  is  readily  seized  upon  by  the 
excellent  people  of  Danbury.  A  short  time  ago 
there  appeared  in  a  public  print  an  account  of  a 
serious  runaway  which  was  broken  up  by  the  sud- 
den opening  of  an  umbrella  by  a  daring  woman  in 
the  very  faces  of  the  mad  beasts.  On  Friday  of 
last  week  there  was  a  violent  agitation  on  Nelson 
Street.     A  team,  belonging  to  a  lumberman,  was 


/lOlV  TO  STOP  A   NORSE.  I3S 

dashing  through  that  thoroughfare  at  a  terrible 
pace.  The  driver  had  been  thrown  to  the  ground, 
leaving  the  horses  without  the  slightest  restraint 
upon  their  mad  course.  Coming  in  at  the  lower 
end  of  the  street,  as  the  flying  team  appeared  at 
the  upper  end,  was  a  citizen  who  was  carrying  an 
umbrella.  In  addition  to  the  umbrella  he  possessed 
a  knowledge  of  the  article  that  had  appeared  in 
a  public  print.  It  took  but  a  second  to  think. 
Then  he  dashed  out  into  the  roadway,  firmly 
braced  himself,  and  just  as  the  team  reached  him 
spread  open  the  alpaca.  That  was  all  in  one 
instant.  The  next  instant  there  was  a  crash,  a 
thrilling  blending  of  horses,  umbrella,  and  man,  and 
a  yell.  And  then  the  crazed  horses  and  the  jump- 
ing wagon  swept  on,  and  a  half-dozen  horrified 
spectators  went  out  into  the  roadway  and  picked 
up  a  lot  of  cloth  and  blood  and  whalebones,  and 
reverently  conveyed  them  into  a  neighboring 
house.  The  man's  life  was  saved,  and  his 
wounds  satisfactorily  dressed,  but  the  parachute 
was  a  complete  wreck.  Why  the  experiment 
proved  to  be  so  unfortunate  is  not  known,  but 
there  is  a  vague  impression  in  the  experimenter's 
fuddled  head  that  perhaps  it  was  not  the  right 
kind  of  umbrella. 


136  A  SPRING  PICTURE, 


A   SPRING   PICTURE. 

As  glorious  as  was  the  dawn  of  Wednesday, 
April  30,  1879,  a  cloud  arose  and  cast  the  chill 
of  its  shadow  upon  it.  It  was  an  imperceptible 
cloud  to  many,  but  to  others  it  was  as  plain  as  the 
day  itself,  —  ay,  plainer,  because  it  obscured  the 
day. 

There  had  been  showers  of  rain  through  the 
night.  The  falling  drops  purified  the  close  air, 
and  moistened  the  parched  earth. 

When  the  sun  arose  its  rays  were  reflected  in 
millions  of  tiny  water-drops,  clustering  in  dia- 
monds upon  every  twig  of  tree  and  blade  of  grass. 
What  a  grand  day  it  was !  How  full  of  healing 
was  the  balmy  air !  How  intense  the  pleasure 
which  filled  every  heart  to  overflowing ! 

All  through  the  day  the  sun  shone,  the  birds 
sang,  the  buds  throbbed,  and  blossoms  laughed 
themselves  into  glorious  life.  But  the  shadow  came 
and  grew,  and  scattered  its  bitterness  over  all. 

Windows  came  out,  carpets  up,  and  stoves  down. 
Soap  and  water  saturated  all  indoors,  while  the 
dust  from  scores  of  carpets  wooded  over  all  out- 
doors. 

Man  went  out  among  the  buds  and  blossoms 
and  birds. 

Of  course  the  weather  changed  in  the  night. 
It  always  does.     Tiiere  was  no  sun  the  next  morn- 


A    SPR/iYG  PICTURE.  137 

ing.  There  was  no  glad  song  of  birds,  no  laughing 
blossoms,  no  lambent  air.  A  chill  rested  upon 
everything  outdoors. 

Indoors  there  were  no  carpets,  no  stoves,  no 
order,  but  plenty  of  dampness  and  chill. 

There  are  times  when  cleanliness  is  next  to 
ungodliness,  —  so  next,  in  fact,  as  to  be  distin- 
guished with  the  greatest  difficulty,  if  one  care  to 
distinguish  it  at  all. 

There  was  a  great  deal  of  ungodliness  in  Dan- 
bury  on  Thursday,  May  i,  1879.  ^^  permeated 
every  quarter  of  the  village.  Men,  chilled  to  the 
marrow,  walking  over  bare  floors  which  gave  back 
dismal  echoes,  finding  nothing  where  it  belonged, 
forcing  down  half-prepared  victuals,  saturated  with 
the  odor  of  soap,  were  in  a  humor  that  was  dan- 
gerous to  themselves  and  most  uncomfortable  to 
those  about  them. 

There  were  colds  taken  on  that  day  that  will 
weaken  and  annoy  for  months.  There  were  seeds 
of  disease  sown  that  will  never  be  rooted  out. 
Tempers  were  soured,  heartburnings  born,  and 
evils  begun  whose  influence  will  reach  to  the 
grave. 

There  is  nothing  funny  about  this.  There  is 
nothing  excusable  in  it.  House-cleaning  can 
never,  of  course,^  be  made  a  delight,  unless  it  is 
to  a  woman  ;  but  there  is  no  need  of  making  it 
a  curse.  There  is  no  more  sense  in  cleaning  a 
house  in  the  spring  than  there  is  in  cleaning  a 
shad  in  a  golden  chariot. 


13^  A    WEAK  STRANGER. 


A  WEAK  STRANGER. 

He  was  a  rather  peacefully  inclined  appearing 
party,  standing  in  front  of  Danbury's  best  hotel, 
with  his  hands  crossed  in  front  of  him,  and  look- 
ing benignantly  upon  the  sleighing  parties.  The 
other  party  in  this  drama  was  a  much  differently 
appearing  man.  He  wore  rubber  boots,  whose 
tremendous  legs  went  up  his  own  nearly  to  the 
thigh.  His  hair  was  cropped  very  short  to  his 
head,  and  he  wore  a  slouched  hat  very  much  to 
one  side,  which  gave  him  a  gamy  appearance. 
He  was  drawing  a  cutter  along  on  the  walk,  and 
he  was  going  at  a  pretty  good  rate,  and  hallooing 
defiantly  and  offensively  for  everybody  to  "  clear 
the  track."  It  was  a  spirit  of  mischief  of  the 
worst  kind  that  prompted  him  to  buck  up  against 
the  peaceful  man  and  rudely  disturb  his  pleasant 
contemplation. 

"  You  should  not  be  so  rude,  my  friend,"  expos- 
tulated the  stranger,  mildly. 

It  was  a  gentle  remonstrance,  so  gentle  that  it 
stirred  up  every  bit  of  the  ferocious  courage  in  the 
carcass  of  the  gamy  individual. 

"  Oh,  I  'm  rude,  am  I } "  he  sarcastically  uttered 
in  a  piping  voice,  assumed  for  the  occasion.  "I  'm 
rude  to  the  delicate  child.  Ha,  ha,  ha  !  ho,  ho,  ho ! 
Where  's  your  ma,  old  Beeswax  }  " 

The  peaceful  man  turned  his  back  upon  him. 


A    WEAK  STRANGER.  139 

"  What  er  you  doing  that  for,  you  old  rip  ? 
Don't  you  know  any  better  than  to  turn  your 
back  on  a  gentleman  ?     Who  be  ye,  anj-way  ?  " 

The  speaker  dropped  the  thills  of  the  cutter,  and 
stepped  around  to  the  front  of  the  quiet  party. 
It  was  evident  he  meant  mischief.  He  winked  to 
the  loungers  who  were  eagerly  and  expectantly 
looking  on,  and  if  ever  a  wink  said,  "  Now  just 
keep  your  eyes  open  if  you  want  to  see  me  dress 
him,"  that  wink  thus  gave  utterance. 

The  peaceful  man  gave  no  reply  to  the  rude 
query. 

•'  What 's  the  matter  with  you  }  Is  your  tongue 
locked,  or  don't  you  know  enough  to  talk  when  you 
are  spoken  to  }  " 

"  You  had  better  go  along  and  attend  to  your 
own  business,"  said  the  other. 

"  I  had,  had  I .'  Well,  I  want  you  to  understand, 
you  old  rip,  that  this  is  my  business  at  present, 
and  I  'm  going  to  attend  to  it  at  once." 

And  thus  saying,  he  reached  out  to  take  hold  of 
the  other's  collar.  What  his  object  was  in  thus 
doing  is  not  known,  and  perhaps  never  will  be, 
for  at  the  same  instant  the  right  arm  of  the  quiet 
man  swung  suddenly  and  swiftly  from  his  body, 
and  the  gamy  individual  left  the  walk,  and  flew 
in  a  heap  into  the  road,  where  he  arrived  in  a  sit- 
ting posture,  and  with  an  expression  of  appalling 
uncertainty  covering  his  face. 

The  peaceful  man  stepped  to  his  help,  and  said. 
in  a  tone  of  commiseration,  — 


I40  A   SNOIV  PICTURE. 

"  I  am  truly  sorry  I  should  have  been  so  hasty. 
I  ought  not  to  be  so  weak." 

"  Weak!''  gasped  the  gamy  man  with  great 
indignation,  rubbing  himself  as  if  in  doubt  as  to 
what  portion  of  his  anatomy  needed  attention 
first,  —  "weak!  It  ain't  enough,  is  it,  to  fetch  a 
man  such  an  onchristian  lick,  without  lyin'  about 
it.?" 


A   SNOW   PICTURE. 

Falling  snow  greeted  Danbury  as  it  awoke 
and  came  out  after  the  milk  Friday  morning.  It 
was  quiet,  unobtrusive  snow,  and  it  sank  softly 
into  the  swarthy  arms  of  the  village  mud.  The 
air  was  full  of  the  white  flakes,  as  if  an  army  of 
foxes  were  chasing  a  host  of  geese  across  the 
heavens.  All  day  long  the  gentle  fall  continued. 
It  was  steady  snow  that  sank  down  just  where  it 
fell,  and  moved  not,  and  affectionate  snow  that 
wrapped  its  embrace  about  every  twig  and  branch, 
and  clung  there. 

In  the  gray  of  the  declining  afternoon  the  mas- 
sive elms  of  Main  Street  formed  an  arch  of  silver, 
and  against  the  background  of  the  sky  made  a 
tracery  so  delicate  in  its  lines,  and  exquisite  in  its 
loveliness,  as  to  hold  every  mind  with  wonder. 

And  then  when  the  street  lamps  were  lighted 
the  silver  became  precious  stones,  and  a  jewelled 


A    CALENDARED  APRIL.  I4I 

dome  spanned  the  street.  Through  the  greater 
part  of  the  night  the  silent  work  went  on,  and 
when  the  dawn  came  every  branch  and  twig, 
every  post  and  rail,  every  line  and  wire,  was 
clothed  with  spotless  purity. 

Then  the  sun  came  and  transformed  the  silver 
into  gold,  and  the  gold  fell  away,  and  dropped 
silently  into  the  necks  of  the  wondering  people, 
and  the  people  ceased  to  wonder  and  began  to 
sv;ear. 

And  the  battle  of  the  sun  and  the  snow  went 
on,  and  the  life-blood  of  the  snow  ran  through  the 
streets,  and  men  who  had  no  rubbers  swore  also. 

And  the  streets  threw  off  their  white  robes, 
and  returned  to  their  wallow  again. 


A   CALENDARED   APRIL. 

This  is  April,  1880.  Three  calendars  in  sight 
unite  their  authority  in  proclaiming  the  fact.  We 
are  grateful  to  calendars  for  the  information,  and 
on  the  strength  of  it  we  go  out  into  the  country 
and  listen  to  the  birds,  and  watch  the  growing 
life  and  smell  the  grateful  odors  of  wood  and 
earth. 

What  a  delicious  listlessness  pervades  humanity! 
Nature  alone  is  struggling,  and  yet  its  labor  is  a 
gentle   unfolding   and   developing   rather   than   a 


142  A    CALENDARED  APRIL. 

struggle.  How  balmy  the  air  ?  How  graceful 
the  cloud  specks  !  How  refreshing  the  showers  ! 
How  blissfully  peaceful  are  all  things  ! 

We  need  not  to  be  told  that  the  earth  is  awak- 
ing from  its  long  slumber,  and  lazily  coming  out 
into  life,  that  the  birds  and  blossoms  and  zephyrs 
are  here.  VVe  do  not  need  to  be  told  this,  for  we 
can  see  it  on  the  calendars,  the  bright,  handsome 
calendars,  with  their  showy  lines  and  gallant 
figures. 

People  are  appearing  on  the  streets  as  the  birds 
are  filling  the  fields.  They  do  not  walk ;  they 
lounge.  They  do  not  look ;  they  glance.  They 
are  as  listless  as  the  sunlight  that  falls  indolently 
upon  and  about  them.  They  might  be  so  many 
motes  floating  in  it. 

The  store-doors  stand  invitingly  open  under 
the  awnings,  revealing  cool  shadows  and  quiet 
recesses.  The  goods  loll  on  the  shelves,  the 
barrels  lean  against  the  walls.  The  passer-by 
must  needs  step  in,  — not  so  much  to  trade,  as  to 
get  into  the  atmosphere  where  the  storekeeper 
and  his  clerks  look  so  cool  and  comfortable. 

School-children  trundle  their  hoops  along  the 
walk,  and  ripple  the  ambient  air  with  their  blessed 
laughter.  Those  who  love  the  memory  of  Wash- 
ington can  entertain  no  better  hope  of  him  than 
that  he  was  in  all  his  life  as  happy  as  the  school- 
children in  this  dear,  delightful  April  sunshine. 

Here  comes  the  oldest  inhabitant.  April  has 
come  with  healing  on  its  wings  to  him.     There  is 


A    CALENDARED  APRIL.  143 

a  quiet,  peaceful  light  in  the  eyes  half  closed, 
because  of  the  brightness  in  the  air  about  him. 
He  walks  slowly,  as  if  he  were  absorbing  the  pre- 
cious warmth,  and  his  cane  falls  in  gentle  pats 
upon  the  pavement. 

A  breeze  springs  softly  up  from  out  the  west, 
laden  with  the  delicate  perfume  of  opening  bud 
and  springing  grass,  and  delightful  with  the  moist- 
ure of  shaded  glens.  It  toys  gently  with  the  chil- 
dren's hair,  and  coquets,  as  it  passes,  with  the 
fringe  of  the  awnings,  and  turns  round  the  pen- 
dent tiers  of  chip  hats,  as  if  it  were  about  to  select 
one  for  its  own  giddy  head ;  but  in  a  flash  it  is  off 
again,  and  up  in  the  trees,  as  can  be  seen  by 
the  tremor  among  the  budding  twigs.  Wherever 
it  goes  it  is  followed  by  the  blessing  of  him  who 
has  bared  his  brow  to  its  cooling  touch,  and  felt 
the  grateful  thrill  along  every  nerve. 

All  the  beauty  and  glory  of  these  April  days, 
shining  upon  us  through  their  tears,  would  not  be 
known  to  us  were  it  not  for  the  calendars.  From 
the  walls  of  every  office  in  the  land  they  mutely 
point  to  April's  presence  and  the  beautiful  treas- 
ures in  blossom  at  her  feet.  Otherwise  we  would 
think  it  was  the  middle  of  March. 


144  THE  DANBURY  (ESOPHAGUS. 


THE  DANBURY   CESOPHAGUS   IN   A  DEATH- 
STRUGGLE. 

One  of  the  most  exciting  contests  on  record 
occurred  in  the  Danbury  and  Norwalk  Railway 
shops  last  Thursday.  It  was  a  fight  against  time, 
and  was  productive  of  intense  interest.  The  day 
before,  the  wager  was  made  that  one  of  the  em- 
ployes could  not  eat  ten  soda-crackers  in  ten  min- 
utes. He  immediately  closed  in  with  the  proposi- 
tion. The  amount  involved  in  this  trial  of  the 
oesophagus  was  one  dollar's  worth  of  cigars.  The 
time  selected  was  Thursday  noon.  The  contest- 
ant loaded  his  dinner-pail  the  next  morning  with 
ten  soda-crackers,  to  the  great  astonishment  of 
his  wife,  who  had  prepared  the  usual  dinner,  and 
was  sure  ten  crackers  would  afford  him  no  nourish- 
ment. He  made  no  explanation,  however,  of  his 
purpose.  He  wanted  to  astonish  and  delight  her 
with  the  result  when  he  got  home. 

Just  before  the  noon  hour  he  examined  the 
crackers,  and,  finding  they  were  rather  moist,  he 
put  them  near  the  fire  to  dry  them  thoroughly  so 
as  to  reduce  their  size.  At  the  time  called  he  was 
ready.  A  watch  was  brought  forth  and  the 
moment  marked.  There  was  a  breathless  silence 
among  the  observers  who  crowded  about  him. 
He   sat   down   on   a   chair,    with    the    pail    held 


THE  DAiVBURY  (ESOPHAGUS.  145 

between  his  legs,  and  one  of  the  crackers  in  his 
hand. 

"  Ready !  "  was  called. 

The  first  cracker  passed  between  his  teeth, 
was  hastily  chewed  and  swallowed,  and  the  sec- 
ond followed  on  its  heels.  His  jaws  moved  rap- 
idly. Closing  with  the  second  began  the  third 
cracker.  The  interest  increased.  The  third 
cracker  seemed  to  contain  more  than  its  prede- 
cessor, and  the  jaws  moved  with  less  regularity, 
although  with  none  the  less  zeal.  But  it  went 
down,  at  just  two  minutes  and  thirty  seconds. 
He  was -now  a  half-minute  ahead,  and  passed 
in  the  fourth  cracker  with  a  face  full  of  hope. 
It  dropped  to  its  place  at  precisely  four  minutes, 
and  the  lead  of  the  fifth  was  close  behind  it. 

The  interest  was  now  intense.  The  fifth  cracker 
seemed  to  fill  his  entire  mouth.  His  jaws  moved 
up  and  down  laboriously.  His  eyes  commenced 
to  increase  in  size,  and  the  veins  on  the  sides  of 
his  face  stood  out  prominently. 

At  five  minutes  the  cracker  was  not  yet  down. 
Several  times  it  started  and  fell  back.  Even  with 
the  additional  force  of  the  coming  sixth  it  moved 
with  great  difficulty.  At  six  and  a  quarter  minutes 
its  rear  column,  blended  with  the  advance  of  No. 
6,  disappeared. 

No.  6  cracker  seemed  to  be  four  times  as  large 
as  any  that  went  before.  It  filled  his  mouth  to 
such  a  degree  as  to  extend  his  cheeks  until  they 
seemed  ready  to  burst,  while  every  motion  of  his 


146  THE  DANBURY  (ESOPHAGUS. 

jaws  gave  his  face  an  appearance  oi  floundering  lYidX 
was  dreadful  to  contemplate. 

He  stood  upon  his  feet.  He  got  up  on  his  toes,- 
and  settled  down  upon  his  haunches.  He  reached 
after  the  back  end  of  that  cracker  as  a  dying  man 
reaches  out  for  life. 

Seven  minutes ! 

His  jaws  moved  with  the  greatest  difficulty.  No 
longer  did  they  go  up  and  down,  but  from  side  to 
side,  and  a  sort  of  moaning  sound  came  therefrom. 
His  eyes  seemed  to  be  leaving  their  sockets. 

Seven  and  a  half  minutes  ! 

In  desperation  he  clutched  the  seventh  cracker 
and  jammed  it  into  the  mass  already  there.  The 
effect  was  frightful.  His  mouth  was  already 
spread  apart  nearly  unto  his  ears.  The  last 
charge  appeared  to  be  endeavoring  to  lift  the 
top  of  his  head. 

Eight  minutes  ! 

The  crowd  were  breathless  with  interest.  The 
contestant  was  making  herculean  efforts  to  free 
his  mouth.  His  throat  worked  convulsively.  His 
distended  eyes  glared  at  vacancy,  while  his  opened 
mouth  and  now  almost  powerless  jaws  revealed  a 
mass  of  broken  pastry,  rolling  and  tumbling  there- 
in like  the  heaving  of  mighty  waters. 

Nine  minutes  ! 

There  was  nc  particular  change  in  the  struggle, 
only  that  the  face  was  almost  motionless. 

In  another  minute  time  was  called  By  a  vio- 
lent effort  the  contestant  freed  his  mouth  in  the 


A   SUCCESSFUL   DEVICE.  147 

air  and  sank  exhausted  upon  his  chair,  while  his 
face  began  slowly  to  relax,  and  the  various  features 
to  fall  back  into  their  place  And  thus  closed  one 
of  the  most  exciting  and  instructive  contests  on 
record  in  the  history  of  our  beautiful  village. 


A   SUCCESSFUL   DEVICE. 

The  following  novel  way  of  getting  rid  of  a 
book  canvasser  is  valuable  to  know.  Besides  this, 
there  is  a  pleasant  feeling  in  seeing  a  photographer 
annoyed,  even  if  it  is  of  a  revengeful  cast. 

The  subject  is  a  Danbury  photographer.  The 
canvasser  is  a  woman.  The  work  is  valuable,  as  a 
matter  of  course.  She  said  she  came  to  sell  him 
a  copy.  He  told  her  he  did  n't  want  to  buy.  She 
said  the  book  was  just  adapted  to  him  in  his  busi- 
ness, and  he  would  gain  its  value  a  hundred  times 
over.  He  told  her  that  he  had  no  time  to  read  it. 
She  suggested  that  he  buy  it  for  his  wife.  It  was 
just  the  work  for  a  woman.  A  woman  would  be 
benefited  by  it  to  a  degree  beyond  computation. 
He  answered  that  his  wife  had  more  books  now 
than  she  could  read.  She  asked  him  if  he  had  a 
son.  He  said  yes.  She  told  him  that  if  this 
book  was  chiefly  noted  for  one  thing  above 
another,  it  was  in  shaping  and  inspiring  the  mind 
of  a  young  man. 


1 48        AN  EVEN  EXCHANGE  NO  ROBBERY. 

Several  customers  had  now  arrived,  and  the 
artist  was  plainly  showing  marks  of  exhaustion. 

"Madam,"  he  said,  "what  is  the  price  of  your 
book  ? " 

"  One  dollar  and  a  half." 

"You  sell  these  books  to  make  a  living.^ " 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  Well,  madam,  I  don't  want  the  book.  I  have 
no  use  for  it,  and  I  can  spare  no  more  time  talk- 
ing about  the  matter.  All  your  object  in  selling 
the  book,  I  suppose,  is  to  get  the  percentage 
allowed  you  by  the  publisher  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Well,  here,"  he  said,  handing  her  a  bill,  "is  a 
dollar.  Take  your  profit  on  the  sale  out  of  that, 
and  let  that  end  the  matter." 

"Thank  you,"  she  said,  rolling  up  the  money 
and  storing  it  in  her  pocket-book,  "that  is  just 
the  profit."  And  she  departed  with  a  very  grate- 
ful expression  on  her  face. 


AN   EVEN   EXCHANGE   NO   ROBBERY. 

Mrs.  Goode  and  Mrs.  Meller  are  next-door 
neighbors  on  a  Danbury  street,  and  there  is  a 
frequent  interchange  of  calls  between  them  ;  but 
no  evil  results  therefrom,  because  both  are  excel- 
lent women. 


AN  EVEN  EXCHANGE  NO  ROBBERY.        149 

Mrs.  Goode  called  on  Mrs.  Meller  the  other 
morning  to  speak  to  her  about  some  emptings 
which  acted  as  if  they  were  not  going  to  rise 
properly.  Mrs.  Meller  hastened  back  with  Mrs. 
Goode  to  look  at  them.  After  the  matter  had 
been  discussed  with  the  gravity  demanded  by  the 
importance  of  the  subject,  Mrs   Goode  said,  — 

"  Did  you  hear  that  story  about  the  Ransoms  }  " 

"Yes;  It  was  awful,  wasn't  it?  Who  told 
you?" 

"Mrs   Liebig." 

"  She  told  me,  too.  I  think  that  woman  might 
be  better  engaged  than  in  telling  stories  about 
people."     Mrs.  Meller  spoke  with  some  warmth. 

"  I  should  say  as  much,"  returned  Mrs.  Goode. 
"  If  there  is  anything  I  despise  it  is  tattling.  I 
don't  see  anything  Christian  about  it.  I  abominate 
it  myself  If  there  was  more  charity  in  this  world 
it  would  be  better  for  all  of  us." 

"  I  know  it,"  added  Mrs.  Meller,  "  but  people 
won't  be  charitable.  They  will  talk  and  talk  and 
talk,  I  don't  suppose  that  Mrs.  Liebig  is  without 
a  story  about  somebody  a  single  day.  She  has 
got  a  fearful  tongue,  and  she  don't  care  who  she 
wags  it  against.  I  think  she  had  better  look  to 
home." 

"  If  she  did  she  'd  have  to  give  up  her  care  of 
her  neighbors,  for  she  'd  have  her  hands  full  of 
her  own.  But  that 's  the  way  with  that  class. 
There  's  Mrs.  Hook,  you  know.  Her  tongue  is 
always  pitching  into  somebody,  and  it  was  only 


150        AN  EVEN  EXCHANGE  NO  ROBBERY. 

night  before  last  that  my  man  saw  her  John  carried 
home  dead  drunk." 

"Why,  Mrs.  Goode !  you  don't  say  so." 

"Indeed  I  do." 

"  Carried  home  drunk  !  "  repeated  the  shocked 
Mrs.  Meller. 

"  Yes,  carried  home  drunk.  And  Goode  says 
it  's  not  an  uncommon  affair,  either." 

"Well,  I  declare,  if  I  ever  thought  that.  I 
always  believed  John  was  a  model  boy.  I  suppose 
he  gets  it  from  his  father." 

"  His  father  }     Why  !    did  her  husband  drink  }  " 

"  Drink  !  Did  n't  you  know  that }  But  I  forgot, 
he  died  before  you  came  here." 

"Well,  I  declare!"  ejaculated  Mrs.  Goode. 
"  That 's  news  to  me." 

"  Oh,  yes,  he  was  a  drinker.  He  kept  full  of 
rum  two  thirds  of  the  time.  In  fact,"  here  Mrs. 
Meller  lovvered  her  voice,  "  there  's  good  reason  to 
believe  that  he  died  in  a  drunken  fit." 

"  Heavens  !  "  gasped  the  shocked  listener,  while 
her  eyes  sparkled. 

"  Yes,  Joe  Hook  died  in  a  drunken  fit  if  ever 
there  was  one.     But  don't  speak  of  it,  please." 

"Oh,  I  sha'n't  say  anything  about  it.  You  know 
well  enough  that  I  ain't  one  of  the  tattling  kind," 
promptly  answered  Mrs.  Goode.  "  But  who  would 
have  thought  it.  Well,  well,  well  !  If  I  ain't 
completely  stumped.  I  don't  see  how  she  can  bear 
to  sail  around  in  the  style  she  does  with  that  awful 
memory  on  her." 


CHARACTERISTICS  OF  FALLING.  15  I 

"  Oh,  she  thinks  people  don't  know  it.  And 
now,  you  say,  her  boy  is  going  the  same  way.  Do 
you  know,  Mrs.  Goode,"  said  Mrs.  Meller,  impres- 
sively, "  that  I  believe  these  slanderers  have  a 
judgment  sent  upon  them  .-' " 

"Believe  it  .-• "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Goode,  vigor- 
ously, "  I  hiow   it." 


CHARACTERISTICS   OF  FALLING. 

People  fall  differently  as  well  as  they  walk  dif- 
ferently, eat  differently,  or  think  differently.  The 
particular  characteristics  of  a  nature  will  show 
out  in  an  emergency  as  well  as  in  the  routine  of 
life.  Nearly  everybody  falls  at  this  season  of  the 
year ;  yet  there  are  those  who  never  fall  at  all, 
while  there  are  others  who  fall  frequently.  This 
is,  perhaps,  to  preserve  the  equipose.  Then  there 
is  the  heavy  faller,  the  light  faller,  the  mad  faller, 
the  smiling  faller,  the  mortified  faller,  the  fright- 
ened faller.  Some  people  will  pass  safely  over 
what  other  men  will  slip  and  fall  upon,  just  as  in 
food  one  man's  meat  becomes  another's  poison. 

There  was  a  bit  of  very  smooth  ice  under  a  thin 
sprinkling  of  snow  on  the  walk  at  the  corner  of 
Main  and  Munson  Streets,  Saturday  morning. 
Mr.  Merrill's  grocery  is  on  this  corner,  and  the 
place  has  facilities,  when  the  sun  shines  brightly, 


152  CHARACTERISTICS  OF  FALLING. 

for  the  standing  of  a  number  of  the  populace  who 
admire  sleighing,  bright  faces,  or  anything  not 
suggestive  of  steady,  oppressive  toil.  This  bit  of 
ice,  like  a  trembling  blossom  hidden  in  the  cleft 
of  a  rock,  or  a  bright  shell  embedded  in  the  sands 
of  a  desolate  coast,  had  its  lesson  to  teach  to 
humanity.  And  a  deeply  impressive  lesson  it 
was,  too. 

There  were  a  number  of  people  who  walked 
over  this  bit  of  ice  without  knowing  of  its  exist- 
ence, just  as  there  are  numbers  who  trod  upon 
fragrant  woodland  blossoms,  or  by  exquisite  scenes, 
or  over  finer  feelings,  without  knowing  at  all  of 
their  existence.  They  were  hurrying,  careless 
people,  with  minds  bent  on  the  things  of  this 
world. 

Once  in  a  while  there  would  come  along  an 
appreciative  party,  one  whose  soul  was  alive  to 
little  things.  The  first  of  these  was  an  elderly 
lady,  of  stocky  form.  She  sat  right  down  in  a 
heap,  and  her  lips  formed  into  the  shape  of  the 
letter  O. 

She  simply  ejaculated,  "O  my!  this  is  dread- 
ful." 

The  next  was  a  man  gifted  in  the  way  of  legs. 
He  was  walking  swiftly.  The  right  foot  touched 
this  bit  of  ice.  The  right  foot  then  shot  off  to 
that  side,  the  left  foot  left  its  mooring  and  flew 
around  in  the  same  direction.  This  completely 
reversed  the  position  of  the  man,  he  coming  down 
on  his  hands  and  knees,  and  looking  up  the  other 


CHARACTERISTICS  OF  FALL/iVG.  153 

way  of  the  street.  He  turned  very  scarlet  in  the 
face,  but  said  nothing. 

He  who  followed  him  was  also  a  slim  man.  It 
was  the  beloved  pastor  of  the  Third  Church. 
The  shock  threw  him  forward  at  first,  but  he 
recovered  himself  in  time  to  go  down  on  his  back 
at  once,  A  pail  full  of  molasses  which  he  held 
in  his  right  hand  added  to  the  general  interest. 
He  simply  said,  — 

"  Mercy  on  us ! "  which  evidently  included  the 
molasses. 

The  fourth  person  was  a  stocky-built  party, 
muffled  up  to  his  nose,  and  trotting  along  lightly 
under  the  inspiration  of  agreeable  thought.  Both 
of  his  chubby  feet  gave  away  almost  simulta- 
neously, and  in  the  effort  to  save  himself  his  feet 
smote  the  ice  seven  times  in  rapid  succession,  and 
then  he  went  down  on  his  side,  very  red  in  the  face 
and  very  low  and  vulgar  in  his  conversation. 

Fifteen  minutes  later  a  boy  came  along  on  a 
dead  run.  His  left  foot  struck  the  deceptive  sur- 
face, and  he  curled  up  in  a  heap  against  a  post, 
without  saying  anything.  He  got  up  and  hit  a 
boy  in  the  neck  who  had  laughed  at  him,  and  then 
passed  peacefully  on. 

The  next  man  to  fall  sat  down  squarely  on  the 
walk  with  both  legs  spread  out,  and  a  lower  set 
of  teeth  laying  on  the  hard  snow  between  them. 
He  hastily  shoved  the  teeth  in  his  pocket,  jumped 
up  and  hurried  away,  looking  very  much  embar- 
rassed. 


154  A   MISPLACED   JUDGMENT. 

Following  him  was  a  man  who  was  evidently 
a  teamster,  judging  from  his  rough  exterior.  He 
had  his  pants  in  his  boots,  and  wore  a  devil  may- 
care  look  upon  his  face.  The  shock  turned  him 
completely  over,  and  dropped  him  on  his  face, 
leaving  him  merely  time  to  say,  "  O.  L." 

Mr.  Merrill,  seeing  the  series  of  casualties,  told 
his  clerk  to  pour  ashes  on  the  treacherous  spot. 
While  that  party  was  getting  them  a  red-faced 
man,  full  of  life  and  vigor,  stepped  on  the  place, 
threw  both  of  his  legs  wildly  into  the  air,  and 
came  down  on  the  back  of  his  head  with  a  dread- 
ful thud,  madly  clutching  a  barrel  of  brooms  in 
the  descent.  On  getting  him  to  his  feet  it  was 
discovered  that  he  had  split  his  coat  the  length 
of  his  back,  seriously  damaged  one  of  his  under- 
garments, and  had  said,  "  Great  gaud  !  " 


A   MISPLACED  JUDGMENT. 

Some  one  living  on  the  second  floor  of  the 
double  tenement  on  Nelson  Street  placed  a  pan 
of  baked  beans  in  a  window  to  cool.  A  few  min- 
utes later  the  horse  attached  to  a  coal  cart  backed 
in  front  of  the  place,  and  refused  to  go  The 
driver  laid  on  the  lash,  but  the  animal  would  not 
move  on.  It  winced  and  jumped  about  in  the 
agony  from  the  blows,  but  it  would  not  advance. 


A   MISPLACED  JUDGMENT.  155 

A  portly  gentleman  passing  on  the  walk,  saw  the 
trouble,  and  stopped.  He  was  in  sympathy  with 
the  animal,  and  indignant  with  the  man.  He 
expostulated  with  him,  told  him  to  use  mild  means, 
to  try  suasion,  that  he  ought  to  be  ashamed  of 
himself  for  treating  a  dumb  beast  in  that  manner  ; 
that  if  he  did  not  relent,  and  cease  his  brutal  con- 
duct, a  fearful  judgment  would  overtake  him. 

At  this  juncture  a  little  girl  came  to  the  window 
to  see  what  was  the  matter,  and  she  must  have 
hit  against  the  pan  of  beans,  for  almost  immedi- 
ately it  slid  from  the  window,  and  while  the 
benevolent  gentleman  was  telling  the  coal  man 
of  the  judgment  to  come,  the  pan  descended 
bottom  upwards  on  his  own  devoted  head,  del- 
uging him  with  its  contents,  taking  his  breath, 
and  knocking  him  down  on  his  hands  and  knees. 
The  shock  was  so  great  and  so  unexpected  that  the 
unfortunate  man  was  completely  bewildered,  and 
crawled  away  as  fast  as  he  could,  knowing  not 
where  he  was  going,  but  instinctively  seeking  to 
get  out  of  danger.  He  was  a  dreadful  looking 
spectacle  when  he  got  up.  He  was  beans  the 
entire  length  of  his  person.  They  streamed  down 
his  back  and  legs,  and  the  oily  substance  dripped 
from  the  brmi  of  his  hat,  while  riding  securely  on 
the  crown  was  a  pound  piece  of  pork,  clotted  with 
beans. 

The  driver  silently  watched  him  until  he  got 
on  his  feet,  and  then  shouted  at  him,  — 

"  If  you  had  n't  stuck  your  nose  in  other  people's 


15^  DOMESTIC  STRATEGY. 

business  I  'd  come  there  an'  help  scrape  you  off, 
but  now,  cuss  you,  you  can  scrape  yourself." 

A  woman  who  saw  the  accident  invited  the 
unhappy  victim  into  her  yard,  where  she  helped 
him  get  off  his  coat,  removed  his  hat  and  emptied 
it,  and  gave  him  a  shingle  to  scrape  off  his  pants 
with,  and  performed  other  kind  offices  suggested 
by  her  sweet,  womanly  nature. 

It  is  pleasant  to  see  such  things,  to  find  those 
whose  hearts  are  full  of  tender  sympathy,  and 
whose  hands  turn  to  helpful  acts. 

The  little  girl  did  n't  come  down  after  the  pan 
until  the  portly  gentleman  had  got  out  of  the 
neighborhood. 


DOMESTIC    STRATEGY. 

Domestic  exigencies  and  the  means  for  meet- 
ing them  scarcely  ever  form  a  perfect  fit.  Open- 
ing clams  with  a  poker,  driving  nails  with  a  flat- 
iron,  and  lifting  tacks  with  a  razor,  are  but  a  few 
of  the  extraordinary  performances  a  household  is 
forced  into.  Bruises  and  ill-temper  are  the  nat- 
ural outcome.  Perhaps  the  time  may  come  when 
a  bridal  dowry  will  include  a  chest  of  tools,  with  a 
carefully  prepared  manual  for  the  use  thereof.  At 
any  rate,  it  is  well  to  believe  that  the  ever-active 
spirit  of  progress  which   is  abroad  will,  in   time, 


DOMESTIC  STRATEGY.  1 57 

evolve  a  way  out  of  the  trouble.  If  all  the  suffer- 
ing which  has  sprung  from  these  domestic  infelici- 
ties were  put  in  print,  the  array  would  appall  the 
world.  The  latest  instance  occurred  in  New 
Haven.  A  citizen  desired  to  remove  a  door-knob. 
He  had  no  screw-driver,  of  course.  He  didn't  go 
and  buy  one.  Neither  did  he  attempt  to  borrow 
one.  You  all  understand  this.  He  got  his  butcher 
knife.  If  he  had  had  a  scythe  he  would  have 
taken  that,  as  a  scythe  is  even  more  awkward 
than  a  butcher  knife.  However,  the  butcher 
knife  did  very  well  for  removing  the  screws  and 
prying  off  the  plate.  It  had  a  blade  thirteen 
inches  in  length,  undoubtedly.  He  set  to  work. 
The  longer  he  worked,  and  the  more  apparent  it 
became  that  the  butcher  knife  was  miles  outside 
its  sphere,  the  more  muscle  and  zeal  he  brought 
to  bear  upon  it.  Of  course  the  knife  slipped.  It 
could  n't  help  it.  It  was  bound  to  do  it.  And 
when  it  slipped  it  carried  away  something.  That 
was  to  be  expected,  of  course.  But  the  some- 
thing on  this  occasion  must  have  been  entirely 
unexpected  to  the  citizen,  as  it  certainly  is  to  the 
public.  It  was  the  entire  end  of  the  citizen's 
nose. 

The  blade  had  shot  across  it  like  a  meteor,  tak- 
ing it  off  as  clean  as  it  could  possibly  be  done, 
and  giving  him  a  sort  of  unfinished  appearance,  as 
he  dashed  into  the  bosom  of  his  family,  that  must 
have  been  exceedingly  painful  to  the  startled 
beholder. 


158  THE   CHARM  OF  GIRLHOOD. 


THE  CHARM   OF   GIRLHOOD. 

Perhaps  the  complaint  embodied  in  the  appended 
communication  to  the  editor  may  be  entertained  by 
many  of  our  readers.  Certainly  the  scene  he 
speaks  of  is  common  enough  in  this  fair  land  :  — 

Mr.  Bailey,  —  There  is  a  matter,  the  solution  of  which 
is  a  great  social  anxiety.  I  have  tried  my  very  best,  time  and 
time  again,  to  solve  it,  but  have  failed.  It  may  be  that  you 
can  give  me  an  explanation.  I  allude  to  the  custom  among 
young  ladies  in  company  of  getting  together  on  a  sofa,  or  in 
a  corner,  and  whispering  and  laughing.  I  have  noticed  that 
at  every  remark  made  by  one  or  another,  all  would  laugh 
right  out  or  snicker  behind  their  hands,  or  make  efforts  to 
suppress  what  are  apparently  gigantic  convulsions  of  merri- 
ment. What  strikes  me  as  remarkable  in  this  connection  is, 
that  these  same  young  ladies,  capable  of  saying  the  wittiest 
of  things  under  their  breath,  seem  to  be  incapable  of  saying 
anything  at  all  aloud.  If  this  is  not  a  phenomenon,  I  don't 
know  what  a  phenomenon  is  ;  and  if  you  can  explain  it,  you 

will  greatly  oblige 

A  Puzzled  Youth. 

The  custom  was  a  universal  mystery  until  nearly 
two  years  ago,  when  a  young  lady,  resident  of  Dan- 
bury,  much  addicted  to  the  unfortunate  habi^,  being 
on  her  death-bed,  confessed  that  the  whisperings 
had  no  significance  whatever.  They  were  merely 
little  nothings  passed  from  one  to  another  to 
occupy  themselves,  and  laughed  over  with  a  view 
to  attract  the  attention  of  the  young  men  who 


A   MECHANICAL  PROCESS.  159 

might  be  present.  The  physician  who  attended 
her  made  a  careful  study  of  the  matter  then  and 
since,  and  he  is  of  the  opinion  that  the  tendency 
to  these  scenes  arises  from  a  nervousness  pecuhar 
to  females,  but  more  strongly  developed  in  the 
more  sentimental,  and  awakened  only  when  in 
presence  of  the  other  sex.  In  corroboration  of 
these  two  declarations,  it  is  well  known  that  the 
exhibition  is  never  made  by  men,  and  in  a  com- 
pany formed  exclusively  of  females  none  of  the 
members  show  the  least  inclination  to  engage 
in  it. 


A   MECHANICAL   PROCESS. 

It  is  very  rarely  a  plumber  is  approached  by 
any  other  tradesman.  He  has  always  held  a 
monopoly  in  a  certain  science,  and  perhaps  always 
will ;  but  his  throne  was  considerably  shaken  in 
Danbury  one  day  last  week. 

A  gentleman  living  on  Main  Street  desired  to 
have  a  basin  set  in  a  room  on  an  upper  floor.  He 
engaged  a  plumber  to  do  the  work,  and  also  a  car- 
penter to  cut  the  necessary  openmgs  through  the 
floors  for  the  pipe  which  was  to  run  into  the  cel- 
lar. The  work  was  to  be  done  in  the  afternoon, 
and  the  plumber  was  told  that  the  carpenter  would 
be  on  hand. 

At  one   o'clock   the   plumber  was    there.     He 


l60  A   MECHANICAL   PROCESS. 

went  to  the  room  which  was  to  receive  the  basin, 
and  sat  reluctantly  down  on  a  step-ladder  to  wait 
for  the  carpenter. 

This  was  not  an  agreeable  performance,  but  as 
he  was  paid  for  it  he  could  not  very  well  refuse  to 
do  it.  He  sat  there  and  eyed  the  opposite  wall 
for  some  little  time.  Then  there  was  a  sort  of 
kaleidoscope  of  basins,  carpenters,  railway  bonds, 
and  summer  excursions,  for  a  moment,  and  then 
came  unconsciousness. 

At  the  end  of  two  hours  he  opened  his  eyes, 
rubbed  them,  and  looked  about.  There  was  no 
carpenter  in  sight.  He  consulted  his  watch.  It 
was  now  nearly  four  o'clock.  It  was  very  surpris- 
ing indeed.  He  V\^ent  to  the  window,  and  looked 
out.  Did  his  eyes  deceive  him  }  Could  it  be  pos- 
sible !  He  looked  again.  Yes,  there  was  the 
carpenter  standing  at  the  gate  and  looking  down 
the  street  with  that  vigor  of  expression  common  to 
a  man  who  works  by  the  day. 

"  Hello  !  "  cried  the  plumber. 

"Hello!"  responded  the  carpenter,  after  locat- 
ing his  compeer. 

"  I  thought  you  were  coming  around  here  to 
work  at  one  o'clock,"  said  the  plumber,  indig- 
nantly. 

"  So  I  did,"  said  the  carpenter,  "  but  you  were  n't 
here." 

"Wasn't  here,  hey  .-^ "  repeated  the  plumber, 
nearly  losing  all  his  temper.  "I  've  been  up  here 
waiting  for  you  since  one  o'clock." 


AN  ITALIAN'S    VIEW  OF  WINTER.  i6i 

"  And  I  have  been  down  cellar  waiting  for  you 
since  one  o'clock,"  retorted  the  carpenter. 

As  extraordinary  as  it  ma}'  appear,  it  was  the 
truth.  And  the  two  men  growing  confidential  in 
the  phenomena  of  the  coincidence,  it  presently 
transpired  that  while  the  plumber  was  held  on  a 
step-ladder  in  the  arms  of  Morpheus  on  an  upper 
floor,  the  carpenter  was  wooing  the  beautiful  god- 
dess on  an  ice-chest  in  the  cellar.  Each  at  thirty- 
five  cents  an  hour. 

Moral.  —  Honest  toil  will  make  an  ice-chest, 
likewise  a  step-ladder,  as  soft  as  downy  pillows 
are. 


AN    ITALIAN'S  VIEW  OF   A   NEW   ENGLAND 
WINTER. 

There  was  a  burst  in  a  tin  conductor  leading 
from  the  roof  of  the  house  on  the  corner  of  Rose 
and  Myrtle  Streets  the  other  afternoon,  and  the 
water  thus  escaping  ran  across  the  walk.  Toward 
night  the  weather  stiffened  up  and  the  loose  water 
became  a  sheet  of  ice.  About  four  o'clock  the 
next  morning  there  was  a  slight  fall  of  snow.  Jn 
the  basement  of  the  building  an  Italian  gentleman 
has  a  fruit  store.  Shortly  after  six  o'clock  this 
morning  he  had  his  outside  wares  in  a  line  of  dis- 
play.    Peanuts  being  a  specialty  with  him,  two  or 


i62  AjV  ITALIAN'S    VIEW  OF   WINTER. 

three  bushels  of  that  article  made  a  tempting  pile 
on  a  large  stand.  While  he  was  making  this 
arrangement  a  carpenter  with  a  tool-box  on  his 
shoulder  came  around  the  corner,  and,  stepping  on 
the  concealed  ice,  immediately  threw  his  tool-box 
into  the  street,  got  up  himself,  looked  around  to 
see  what  had  happened,  and  then  picked  up  his 
tools.  This  so  amused  the  Italian  that  he  felt 
obliged  to  rush  into  the  shelter  of  the  basement 
to  conceal  his  delight.  Had  he  been  a  native  of 
this  country,  it  might  have  suggested  itself  to  him 
to  sweep  the  thin  guise  of  snow  from  the  ice  and 
to  sprinkle  salt  or  ashes  upon  it,  but  being  a 
foreigner,  and  not  very  well  acquainted  with  our 
language,  he  did  not  think  of  this,  but  instead  he 
posted  himself  in  a  position  to  give  him  a  good 
view  of  the  corner,  and  patiently  waited  for  devel- 
opments. He  saw  them.  If  his  object  was  to 
get  an  idea  of  the  fulness  and  flexibility  of  the 
English  language,  he  could  not  have  possibly 
adopted  a  better  course. 

Scarcely  had  the  carpenter  gathered  up  his 
things  and  limped  off,  when  a  man  smoking  came 
hurrying  along.  When  he  reached  the  ice  he 
suddenly  turned  part  way  around,  bit  a  brier-wood 
pipe  completely  in  twain,  and  slid  on  his  breast 
off  from  the  walk  into  the  gutter.  He  got  up, 
cautiously  recovered  his  pipe,  and  melted  away. 
The  Italian  shook  all  over. 

Following  closely  after  this  mishap  was  a  laborer 
with   a  dinner-kettle.     When  he  touched  the  ice 


AN  ITALIAN'S    VIEW  OF   WINTER.  1 63 

it  was  difficult  for  the  fruit  merchant  to  determine 
whether  it  was  his  feet  or  another  part  of  his 
person,  —  it  was  done  so  quick.  The  new-comer 
appeared  to  suddenly  come  apart  and  shut  up  at 
the  middle,  and  in  the  same  flash  the  tin  pail 
described  a  circle  of  lightning  rapidity,  and  was 
then  slapped  against  the  pavement  with  terrific 
force.  At  the  same  instant  the  Italian  saw  a 
piece  of  pie,  several  half-slices  of  buttered  bread, 
two  hard-boiled  eggs,  a  piece  of  cold  beef,  and  a 
fork  and  spoon  fly  off  in  different  directions,  while 
a  pint  tin  of  coffee  made  its  appearance,  and 
emptied  its  contents  in  the  prostrate  man's  lap. 
While  this  individual  was  getting  up  to  his  feet, 
and  securing  his  pail  and  cutlery,  the  Italian  man- 
aged to  blend  considerable  instruction  with  the 
amusement. 

Then  there  came  a  man  with  a  board  on  his 
shoulder.  He  laid  down  on  the  board,  with  one 
of  his  hands  under  the  board.  Then  he  got  up, 
and  put  the  injured  hand  between  his  knees,  where 
he  pressed  it  tightly,  while  he  used  the  most  dread- 
ful language  the  Italian  ever  heard,  and  he  did  n't 
hear  it  all  either,  being  so  convulsed  with  laughter 
as  to  necessarily  divide  his  attention. 

And  thus  the  performance  went  on  until  af- 
ter eight  o'clock.  Scarcely  ten  minutes  elapsed 
between  the  acts.  Sometimes  a  boy  would  be 
the  hero,  then  again  a  couple  of  merchants,  or 
perhaps  somebody  connected  with  a  bank.  Who- 
ever it  might  be,  he  went  down,  and  went  down 


164  AjV  ITALIAN'S    VIEW  OF   WINTER. 

hard,  and  the  Italian  watched  and  improved  his 
mind,  and  began  to  think  that  this  country  had  its 
advantages  as  well  as  its  disadvantages.  It  was 
eleven  minutes  past  eight  when  the  final  catas- 
trophe occurred.  This  was  consummated  in  the 
person  of  a  long,  slim  man  with  a  picture  under  his 
arm,  and  a  very  large  woman  carrying  a  basket. 
The  long,  slim  man  was  somewhat  in  advance. 
The  Italian,  being  impressed  with  the  conviction 
that  something  of  an  extraordinary  nature  was 
about  to  transpire,  stared  with  fairly  bulging  eyes 
at  the  coming  figure.  No  sooner  did  the  tall, 
slim  man  touch  the  treacherous  spot,  than  the 
venturing  foot  kicked  out  most  savagely  at  the 
atmosphere,  and  his  body  shot  around  like  fire- 
works. The  picture  flew  from  his  possession  at 
the  same  moment,  and  being  thus  freed  he  made 
a  spasmodic  clutch  with  all  his  limbs  at  once  for  a 
place  of  refuge,  and  in  a  flash  his  legs  whipped 
about  a  corner  leg  of  the  inoffensive  peanut  stand, 
and  the  great  shining  yellow  pyramid  followed 
him  to  the  pavement.  The  horrified  Italian, 
stunned  for  an  instant  by  the  enormity  of  the 
catastrophe,  sought  to  plunge  out  to  the  rescue 
of  his  goods,  but  was  too  late.  The  fleshy  woman, 
having  rushed  to  the  aid  of  the  tall,  slim  man,  who 
was  her  husband,  was  caught  herself  by  the  sub- 
tle foe,  and  in  her  descent,  which  was  by  far  the 
most  vigorous  of  the  series,  she  took  in  two  thirds 
of  the  peanuts,  and  the  crash  of  the  demolished 
fruit,  as  she  pinned  it  to  the  walk,  might  ha\e 
been  heard  four  squares  away. 


cnuRcir  FRO. XT  sk'fR.^rrsHF.Rs.  165 

The  unhappy  \'cnder  reached  the  place  in  time 
to  be  taken  in  himself,  and  the  addition  of  one 
hundred  and  thirty  })ounds  of  macaroni-fed  Italian 
added  to  the  dismal  proportions  of  the  scene. 
How  they  got  disentangled  and  on  their  feet  no 
one  seems  able  to  explain,  but  the  result  was 
reached  amid  an  appalling  uproar  of  Italian,  Eng- 
lish, and  feminine  noises. 

What  a  great  matter  a  little  fire  kindleth.  Ten 
cents'  worth  of  salt  would  have  saved  all  the 
misery  and  distress.  As  it  is,  Danbury  has  some 
twenty  persons  with  damaged  backs  or  legs,  the 
owner  of  the  building  has  four  suits  on  hand  for 
damages,  the  tall,  slim  man  and  his  wife  are  con- 
fined to  their  beds,  and  on  Saturday  last  the  Ital- 
ian was  morosely  squatted  alongside  of  the  funnel 
of  a  steamer  bound  for  Italy, 


CHURCH   FRONT    SKIRMISHERS. 

Not  a  very  elevated  opinion  of  the  members  of 
the  phalanx  which  concentrates  in  front  of  a 
country  church  on  the  close  of  the  service  on  a 
Sunday  evening  is  entertained  by  the  public. 
And  sometimes  hard  things  are  said  against  the 
band.  But  the  public  knows  not  the  time,  care, 
expense,  self-denial,  and  discouragement  which  the 
novice  at  the  business  must  go  through  with  before 


1 66  CHURCIT  FROXT  SKTRMTSHERS. 

he  can  become  a  finished  expert.  It  takes  time 
to  do  this,  and  it  takes  a  strong  will,  to  say  nothing 
of  a  naturally  good  constitution.  In  fact  many  a 
young  man  has  lost  his  life  in  his  devotion  to  th'S 
cause,  and  many  another  has  been  discouraged  on 
the  way,  and  fallen  out  to  be  seen  no  more.  A 
reformed  member  of  this  body  has  lately  given 
his  experience,  and  it  throws  much  valuable  light 
on  the  subject.  He  says  that  he  made  his  begin- 
ning when  he  was  seventeen.  Being  a  new  mem- 
ber, he  took  his  place  at  the  foot  of  the  line. 
When  the  ladies  came  out  he  fastened  his  eyes 
upon  them  all  in  a  general  way,  and  on  a  few 
whom  he  particularly  favored  in  a  special  way. 
He  was  fairly  on  fire  with  a  desire  to  go  home 
with  some  one  of  them,  but  he  could  not  get  his 
courage  up  to  the  proper  point.  Those  at  the 
head  of  the  line  slid  up  to  the  desired  partner, 
sent  in  a  smile  as  a  sort  of  skirmisher,  and  sailed 
off  with  the  prize  at  once.  A  half-dozen  times 
he  would  be  just  about  to  make  a  dash,  would 
then  hesitate,  and  in  the  pause  the  fair  one  would 
get  too  far  by,  or  would  be  snapped  up  by  some 
more  expert  brother.  After  they  were  all  gone 
he  found  himself  alone  in  front  of  the  church, 
gloomily  watching  the  sexton  closing  the  doors. 
For  half  that  night  he  walked  the  deserted  street 
a  prey  to  the  most  distressing  emotions.  During 
the  week  he  spent  every  spare  hour  in  the  seclu- 
sion of  his  room,  where  he  practised  assiduously 
on  the  step  forward,  and  the   skirmishing  smile. 


CHURCH  FRONT  SKIRMJSHERS.  1 6/ 

During  that  time  he  "  saw  home "  some  seven 
hundred  imaginary  young  ladies,  of  all  styles  and 
circumstances,  in  an  eminently  satisfactory  man- 
ner. Sunday  night  found  him  again  at  his  post, 
with  a  new  courage  in  his  heart.  It  was  raining 
slightly,  and  he  had  on  a  pair  of  very  thin  boots, 
but  an  umbrella  kept  his  hat  dry.  He  was  quite 
confident  he  had  now  conquered  his  diffidence, 
and  would  have  no  trouble,  but  when  the  congre- 
gation came  out,  and  bright  eyes  flashed  into  his, 
he  felt  his  strength  oozing  rapidly  away. 

He  let  the  first  opportunity  pass,  because  he 
was  a  trifle  too  nervous  to  make  an  attempt. 
The  next  he  was  about  to  close  in  with,  when  the 
thought  came  to  him  that  she  might  refuse.  The 
pitiable  condition  he  would  thus  be  left  in  made 
him  so  sick,  that  before  he  could  recover  therefrom 
she  had  been  closed  in  by  her  sisters,  and  was 
gone.  The  third  chance  then  occurred,  and  he 
was  about  to  lift  up  his  leg  in  advance  and  start 
out  his  smile,  when  the  same  sickening  possibility 
again  threw  its  deadly  embrace  about  his  heart, 
and  he  fell  back  aghast,  and  just  then  her  brother 
came  along  and  walked  her  off.  With  the  fourth 
he  had  no  different  experience,  except  that  she 
was  scooped  up  by  a  party  who  suddenly  and 
unexpectedly  appeared  on  the  opposite  side,  just 
as  he  got  his  foot  pushed  forward  and  his  smile 
well  started.  He  looked  so  white  and  helpless  at 
the  end  that  the  sexton  sympathizingly  asked  him 
if  he  was  subject  to  fits.     The  depression  of  this 


1 68  CHURCH  FROivr  skirmishers, 

night,  together  with  the  dampness  which  struck 
through  his  boots,  prostrated  him  on  a  bed  of  sick- 
ness from  which  he  was  at  last  raised  only  by  the 
most  careful  nursing.  The  Sunday  night  after 
his  recovery  he  again  took  his  place.  The  same 
luck  attended  his  efforts.  His  brain  grew  dizzy, 
and  his  heart  sick,  from  the  repeated  failures. 
Just  as  he  was  about  to  give  up  in  despair,  a  very 
young  lady,  being  somewhat  detached  from  the 
main  body,  was  thrown  exactly  in  his  way,  and, 
taking  advantage  of  her  isolated  condition,  he 
hysterically  pounced  on  and  secured  her.  But 
the  effort  so  exhausted  him  that  he  found  he  was 
not  equal  to  anything  else,  and  she  being  a  very 
young  maiden,  the  two  proceeded  onward  in  the 
most  dignified  silence.  Not  a  word  was  spoken 
by  either  until  they  reached  her  gate,  when  she 
bashfully  observed,  — 

"  Good  night." 

And  he  faintly  replied,  — 

"Goo — good  night,"  and  stood  staring  after 
her  until  she  disappeared  in  the  house.  Then 
he  mechanically  wended  his  own  way  homeward, 
softly  rubbing  the  back  of  his  head  every  little 
while.  He  says  it  was  fully  three  months  before 
he  became  sufficiently  accomplished  to  see  even 
an  ordinary  girl  home  with  any  degree  of  what 
you  might  call  comfort. 


MR.   COVILLE  AS  A   SPIGOT.  1 69 


MR.   COVILLE    AS    A   SPIGOT. 

Mrs.  Coville  has  been  ailing  ever  since  last 
summer.  She  was  not  down  sick  so  as  to  demand 
the  attention  of  the  doctor,  but  was  debilitated. 
A  general  weakness  seemed  to  envelop  her  like 
a  cloud,  holding  her  muscles  in  abeyance,  making 
her  feel  to  a  degree  helpless,  but  giving  her  no 
pain.  She  did  her  household  work  without  help, 
but  there  was  no  love  for  the  work,  and  she  carried 
no  spirit  into  it.  A  week  ago  a  German  friend  of 
Mr.  Coville  told  him  that  if  his  wife  drank  a  glass 
of  lager  beer  before  each  meal,  she  would  soon 
derive  a  decided  benefit.  Mr.  Coville  lost  no  time 
in  getting  a  keg  of  the  article,  and  in  forty-eight 
hours  after  had  it  in  his  cellar.  The  German  told 
him  how  to  tap  it ;  viz.,  drive  the  spigot  against 
the  cork  in  the  bung,  and  thus  force  the  cork 
inside  while  the  spigot  filled  the  bung-hole.  After 
dinner  Mr.  Coville  attended  to  this  matter.  He 
put  the  spigot  against  the  cork,  hit  two  smart 
raps  with  a  hammer,  and  the  cork  was  driven  in, 
but,  unfortunately,  he  let  go  of  the  spigot  before 
it  was  well  settled,  and  there  being  a  very  heavy 
pressure  to  the  beer,  it  was  thrown  from  the  barrel 
and  carried  to  the  other  end  of  the  cellar,  while 
the  liquor  shot  vehemently  forth.  The  first 
thought  of  Mr.  Coville  was  to  save  the  beer,  and 


I/O  MR.   COVILLE  AS  A   SPIGOT. 

with  that  object  he  thrust  his  thumb  into  the 
opening,  after  getting  his  sleeve  to  the  armpit, 
and  his  bosom,  face,  and  hair  deluged  with  the 
fluid.  This  was  a  success,  and  for  a  moment 
Mr.  Coville  plumed  himself  upon  it.  Then  came 
the  realization  that  while  the  beer  was  safe  it  was 
only  at  his  personal  inconvenience  in  the  character 
of  a  spigot,  a  light  he  had  never  before  considered 
himself  in,  and  which  did  not  now  bring  him  the 
most  elevating  of  emotions.  On  the  contrary, 
Mr.  Coville  was  inclined  to  resent  his  situation 
as  something  forced  upon  him  against  his  will, 
and  as  being  entirely  foreign  to  his  hopes  and 
plans  in  this  life.  He  was  down  in  the  cellar 
alone,  —  at  one  end  of  the  cellar,  while  the  spigot 
was  at  the  other,  in  sight,  but  as  far  removed  from 
him  as  if  it  floated  in  the  middle  of  the  Caspian 
Sea.  He  could  hear  some  movement  up  stairs, 
and  a  sort  of  rumbling  sound  like  the  movement 
of  a  body  over  the  floor,  and  he  shouted  aloud 
for  aid. 

Now  it  is  a  singular  fact  that  while  one  can 
hear  a  voice  ordinarily  delivered  in  another  room, 
the  loudest  scream  from  him  will  not  reach  the 
owner  of  the  voice.  If  Mr.  Coville  was  not  before 
aware  of  this  fact,  he  was  made  to  realize  it  now. 
Shout  after  shout  ascended  from  the  cellar,  while 
the  pain  in  his  thumb  crept  up  his  arm,  and  the 
beer  oozed  from  his  hair  and  dripped  silently  from 
his  face.  It  was  a  time  to  think,  and  Mr.  Coville 
tried  to  think  calmly  and  dispassionately,  but  as 


MR.    COVILLE  AS  A   SPIGOT.  I'jl 

the  sounds  from  above  assumed  a  more  definite 
shape,  and  gradually  communicated  to  his  mind 
that  his  son  and  heir  was  making  a  rapid  circuit 
of  the  dining-room  astraddle  of  a  chair  or  some 
other  object,  which  improvised  animal  he  was 
stimulating  to  the  highest  possible  speed  by  sun- 
dry cries  of  an  encouraging  nature,  his  mind  lost 
its  power  of  concentration,  and  the  atmosphere 
of  the  cellar  became  sensible  of  being  disturbed 
by  other  sounds  than  those  directly  appealing  for 
help.  In  fact,  Mr.  Coville  was  mad  ;  stark,  staring, 
raving  mad.  In  so  far  as  the  role  of  a  spigot 
would  permit,  Mr.  Coville  jumped  up  and  down, 
and  wiggled  his  body,  and  contorted  his  face_ 
Finally  the  strength  of  purpose,  hitherto  nour- 
ished by  the  contemplative  cost  of  the  beer,  ex- 
hausted the  nourishment,  and  thus  exhausted 
itself,  and  wrenching  his  thumb  from  the  barrel, 
the  unhappy  man  started  for  the  stairs,  being 
materially  aided  therein  by  the  force  of  the  escap- 
ing beer,  which  caught  him  fairly  in  the  back  of 
the  legs  as  he  turned  to  go.  Mr.  Coville  may  not 
have  had  any  definite  purpose  in  view  when  he 
clawed  his  way  up  the  stairs,  but  on  reaching  the 
dining-room  and  discovering  the  hope  of  his  life 
prancing  about  on  the  back  of  a  prostrate  chair, 
with  a  face  shining  with  wholesome  delight,  his 
struggling  and  tortured  mind  fastened  on  this 
circumstance  with  electric  speed. 

The  flavor  of  camphor  which  is  distilled  from 
young    Coville   as    he    moves    about    since    then, 


1/2  A   FEW  HINTS  FOR    THE    TABLE. 

would  lead  a  stranger  to  infer  that  a  ferocious 
attack  from  an  army  of  moths  was  momentarily 
threatening  the  unfortunate  youth,  and  was  averted 
only  through  the  united  efforts  of  fifteen  alert  and 
uncompromising  druggists. 


A   FEW   HINTS    FOR   THE   TABLE. 

We  are  sorry  to  see  a  disposition  on  the  part 
of  some  of  our  exchanges  to  make  jests  of  aspar- 
agus eating.  It  is  by  nature  a  delicious  vegetable, 
but  in  build  it  is  designed  to  prove  a  decided 
injury  to  people  of  infirm  digestion,  that  is,  when 
cooked  in  the  whole,  which  is  the  popular  way. 
A  man  unused  to  table  etiquette  should,  when 
invited  out,  or  when  at  a  hotel  table,  decline  such 
articles  that  he  is  confident  he  cannot  dispose  of 
with  ease.  These  are,  principally,  asparagus, 
green  corn  on  the  cob,  chipped  potatoes,  small 
game,  oranges,  and  stewed  fruits  whose  pits  are 
too  large  to  be  swallowed  with  safety.  However, 
he  does  not  always  use  this  firmness,  and  his  plate 
comes  to  be  filled  or  surrounded  by  things  which 
are  designed  to  build  him  up,  but  which  threaten 
to  tear  him  down,  and  before  them  he  quails  in 
fear  and  confusion.  If  he  does  not  have  the 
strength  to  decline  them  when  passed,  he  must 
either   leave   them   about  his  plate  as  embo.ssed 


A   FEW  H/.VTS   FOR    THE    TABLE.  173 

monuments  of  his  folly,  or  risk  his  life,  and  the 
garments  of  his  neighbor,  in  their  disposal.  To 
the  uninitiated  a  stalk  of  asparagus  is  a  formidable 
object.  To  get  it  into  his  mouth  without  drop- 
ping it  inside  of  his  vest  requires  tact.  He 
observes  that  the  popular  way  is  to  use  it  as  a 
bow  with  his  mouth  as  the  fiddle.  It  is  rarely  he 
ventures  on  this  plan,  from  an  exaggerated  opinion 
of  its  magnitude.  And  the  caution  is  proper 
enough,  perhaps,  as  in  applying  the  bow  he  may 
miscalculate  the  exact  location  of  the  fiddle ;  and 
to  offend  in  this  respect,  even  in  the  smallest 
degree,  is  to  disarrange  one's  nose  or  mar  one's 
chin.  Then,  again,  there  is  another  danger.  The 
stalk  may  lop  down,  causing  an  entirely  new 
effect  to  be  made  ;  or  it  may  part  in  the  middle 
from  too  great  an  enthusiasm  in  closing  upon  it, 
leaving  a  very  small  particle  in  the  mouth,  with 
the  handle  in  the  fingers,  and  the  most  palatable 
and  larger  part  inside  the  vest.  If  taken  up  as 
a  whole  on  the  fork,  and  we  find  that  new  begin- 
ners generally  pursue  this  course,  it  has  to  be 
coaxed  and  crowded  into  the  mouth  with  as  much 
demonstration  as  though  it  was  a  dog  being  put 
out  of  doors.  And  when  safely  housed  there  is  the 
indigestible  end  or  handle  to  be  disposed  of.  It 
cannot  be  returned  to  the  plate.  To  be  swallowed 
at  all,  it  must  be  chewed  very  fine,  and  in  this 
process  all  the  delicacy  and  rich  flavor  of  the 
balance  of  the  stalk  is  lost  in  the  depraved  taste 
of  the  tough  fibres.     A  man  should  become  thor- 


174  A   FEW  HINTS  FOR    THE    TABLE. 

oughly  familiar  with  asparagus  before  going  into 
society  with  it.  Corn  on  the  cob  is  rather  diffi- 
cult to  manage.  Perhaps  the  better  way  is  to 
cut  off  the  corn,  but  to  the  beginner  very  unsatis- 
factory results  quite  frequently  attend  this  opera- 
tion. If  he  bears  too  hard,  and  he  invariably 
will,  on  the  top  of  the  cob,  the  lower  end,  resting 
on  the  plate,  will  suddenly  slip  from  its  place, 
and  plough  through  the  small  dishes  with  awful 
ferocity,  leaving  ruin  and  desolation  in  its  train. 
Stone  fruits  should  be  prepared  without  the  pits, 
except  in  the  case  of  cherries,  whose  pits  are  so 
small  as  to  readily  permit  of  their  being  bolted 
into  the  system  in  great  quantities.  But  with 
prunes  and  peaches  it  is  an  altogether  different 
matter,  and  unless  a  man's  oesophagus  is  of  a  most 
accommodating  nature,  a  less  alarming  disposition 
of  the  pits  than  swallowing  them  must  be  discov- 
ered. This  is  a  serious  dilemma  to  the  diffident 
man.  In  the  home  circle  they  may  be  spilled  out 
on  the  cloth  or  thrown  under  the  table.  But  in 
society  these  simple  means  of  escape  are  frowned 
upon.  If  a  man  has  a  goodly  number  of  hollow 
teeth,  they  can  be  quietly  conveyed  to  such  re- 
ceptacles for  the  time  being,  but  in  absence  of 
this  he  must  either  eject  them  into  a  spoon  and 
thence  to  the  plate,  as  society  demands,  or  carry 
them  banked  under  his  tongue  until  he  can  get 
away  from  the  table  and  slip  them  back  of  the 
ottoman.  Next  to  asparagus,  chipped  potatoes 
are  a  source  of  well-grounded  apprehension  in  the 


IVJLL   HAVE   IT  ALWAYS   ON  IIAXD.         1/5 

mind  of  the  man  who  has  given  no  study  to  table 
etiquette.  Of  a  strikingly  tempting  appearance, 
he  takes  them  on  his  plate  without  realizing  the 
awful  danger  he  is  rushing  upon.  He  does  under- 
stand that  a  knife  is  tabooed  in  lifting  food  to  the 
mouth,  and  he  resorts  to  his  fork,  and  begins  to 
think  that  there  are  some  things  which  are  more 
easily  lifted  with  the  latter  than  with  the  former 
article.  A  chipped  potato  is  such  a  thing  in 
appearance  only.  It  cannot  be  speared  without 
breaking  it,  and  to  get  one  across  the  tines  is 
only  to  follow  it  four  times  around  the  circum- 
ference of  the  plate,  and  to  have  it  roll  off  nine- 
teen out  of  every  twenty  times  it  is  secured.  A 
slice  of  chipped  potato,  if  untrammelled  in  its 
movements,  will  weaken  the  most  powerful  intel- 
lect, unsupported  by  experience.  So,  really,  there 
is  nothing  in  these  things  to  make  sport  of,  but 
very  much  indeed  to  deplore  and  grieve  over. 


WILL   HAVE  IT  ALWAYS  ON  HAND. 

The  action  of  the  Danbury  authorities  in  build- 
ing a  pen  wherein  tramps  can  break  stone  for  their 
food  and  lodging  comes  none  too  soon.  The  aw- 
ful evil  of  irrepressible  pedestrianism  overshadows 
this  fair  land  with  the  darkest  cloud  that  has  come 
upon  us  since  1861.     The  papers  teem  with  chron- 


176         WILL   HAVE  IT  ALWAYS  ON  IIAiVD. 

icles  of  brutal  acts  by  tramps,  and  Danbury  itself, 
more  conservative  than  any  part  of  America, 
added,  in  the  past  week,  its  mite  to  the  general 
horror.  The  tramp  in  question  was  a  bandaged 
piece  of  moral  and  physical  rottenness,  held  to- 
gether by  the  bandages.  Blear-eyed,  red-faced, 
low-browed,  he  presented  a  spectacle  far  from  in- 
spiring. He  entered  the  drug  store  and  demanded 
ten  cents'  worth  of  alcohol.  The  clerk  saw  the 
danger  of  letting  him  have  it,  and  told  him  it  was 
not  kept  there,  but  could  be  obtained  at  a  grocery 
across  the  street,  pointing  to  that  place  of  busi- 
ness. The  tramp  stalked  over  there,  and  asked 
for  the  stuff.  The  grocer  and  his  assistant,  and  a 
pompous  man  of  great  breadth  of  beam  (as  most 
pompous  men  have),  were  present.  The  grocer 
said  he  did  not  keep  alcohol.  The  tramp  knew 
better.  The  young  man  across  the  way  had  said 
that  alcohol  could  be  got  there,  and  he  was  going 
to  get  it.  He  glared  around  upon  the  three  au- 
ditors in  a  most  uncompromising  manner.  The 
grocer  again  repeated  that  he  did  not  keep  alco- 
hol, never  kept  it,  had  no  occasion  to,  and,  with  a 
deprecatory  flourish  of  his  hands,  suggested  that 
perhaps  some  one  would  come  along  and  maintain 
that  he  kept  mahogany  grape-vines  on  sale.  The 
clerk,  a  young  person  with  a  colorless  face,  was 
eating  a  piece  of  cheese.  He  suggested  that  the 
customer  might  possibly  be  drunk.  But  it  was 
the  pompous  person  who  was  the  most  seriously 
affected.     He  had  been  talking  about  the  country, 


WILL   HAVE  IT  ALWAYS  ON  HAND.         177 

and  how  it  ought  to  be  managed,  and  what  he 
would  do  if  he  were  the  President.  And  so  he 
had  been  interrupted.  He  looked  through  his 
spectacles  upon  the  bold-faced  tramp  in  a  way  cal- 
culated to  drive  him  into  the  uttermost  corners  of 
the  earth,  but,  owing  to  some  unknown  defect, 
failed  to  perform  that  service.  For  a  moment  he 
was  dumb  with  amazement  at  the  temerity  of  the 
new-comer,  but  finally  recovering  his  senses,  he 
indicated  the  great  depth  of  his  feelings  by  a  long- 
drawn,  sonorous  breath. 

"  Look  at  me,  you  wretch  ! "  he  thundered. 

The  tramp  looked  at  him.  There  was  not  a 
quiver  in  the  bloated  face,  not  a  waver  in  the 
bleared  eyes. 

"  How  dare  you  come  here  into  the  company  of 
respectable  people  with  your  tainted  — " 

"Whoop!" 

That  was  all,  but  it  was  a  cry  that  started  the 
ceiling,  made  the  boxes  on  the  sheh'es  fairly  jump, 
and  caused  the  clerk  to  bolt  in  an  eminently  dan- 
gerous manner  a  full  ounce  of  cheese. 

It  came  from  the  tramp,  suddenly,  without 
warning.  And  then  he  spread  himself.  The 
grocer  v/ent  down  in  a  flash.  The  clerk  spun 
around  like  a  top,  with  a  feeling  back  of  his  ear  as 
if  a  freight  train  had  passed  through  his  skull. 
And  the  man  for  alcohol  was  gone,  and  in  an 
empty  barrel  stuck  the  pompous  citizen,  with  a 
slit  in  his  nose,  his  chin  whiskers  full  of  blood, 
his  spectacles  nowhere  in  sight,  and  a  look  of  the 

12 


178  A  STABLE  POEM. 

utmost  consternation  petrifying  every  feature  of 
his  appalled  countenance.     The  barrel  had  to  be 
taken  apart.     But  the  tramp  was  not  found. 
And  the  grocer  has  ordered  a  tank  of  alcohol. 


A  STABLE  POEM. 

A  DECIDED  change  has  taken  place  in  Slim  Jim. 
Slim  Jim  is  the  help  at  Marshall's  livery  stables. 
He  is  a  young  man  twenty-six  years  old.  He  has 
been  in  the  stables  for  four  years,  and  is  admirably 
qualified  to  perform  the  multifarious  duties  belong- 
ing to  the  situation.  From  association  and  sym- 
pathy he  has  mastered  all  the  details  of  the  busi- 
ness, and  is  really  invaluable  to  Mr.  Marshall.  He 
knows  every  horse  in  Danbury,  knows  its  weak- 
nesses, can  tell  a  defect  as  soon  as  he  sees  the 
possessor  of  it,  and  has  a  very  good  idea  of  horse 
medicines.  Slim  Jim  wears  loud  colors,  his  hair 
cut  short,  no  beard,  no  suspenders,  the  finest  of 
fine  boots  with  high  heels,  and  the  pantaloon  legs 
rolled  tastefully  at  the  bottoms.  Slim  Jim  is 
rather  proud  of  his  boots,  and  rests  in  comfort  as 
to  the  rest  of  his  form.  He  is  a  fair  hand  at 
cards,  proficient  in  profanity,  rather  graceful  in 
lounging,  and  when  not  on  duty  is  adorning  some 
neighboring  bar.  Wherever  Jim  is,  he  talks  horse. 
Horse  is  his  hobby.     He  is  the  most  masculine  of 


A  STABLE  POEM.  1/9 

men.  He  quite  frequently  drives  out  ladies,  but 
it  is  evident  to  the  most  casual  observer  that  the 
horses,  not  the  load,  engross  his  whole  attention. 
He  apparently  has  none  of  the  finer  qualities  of 
mind  and  heart.  He  never  notices  flowers,  nor 
birds,  nor  cloud  formations ;  neither  does  he  speak 
of  running  brooks,  or  mossy  dells,  or  science,  or 
poetry.  Even  his  cards  and  drinking  and  loung- 
ing and  figure  are  all  subordinate  to  this  one  sub- 
ject, the  horse.  He  has  no  sympathies  beyond 
this.  He  has  had  no  life  separate  from  it. 
Although  young  in  years,  he  is  old  in  feelings, 
old  in  expression  of  those  feelings.  Whatever  he 
does  to  display  himself  is  done  to  gain  the  admi- 
ration of  his  own  sex.  He  drinks,  and  drives,  and 
talks,  and  dresses,  and  postures  for  the  sake  of 
exciting  their  envy.  The  last  woman  might  be  in 
the  cratur  of  Vesuvius,  painting  birds  on  dust-pan 
handles,  so  far  as  he  was  concerned. 

But  a  change  has  come  over  Slim  Jim.  He  is 
not  so  much  in  bar-rooms  as  in  front  of  them  now. 
There  is  a  dreamy,  far-away  look  in  his  eyes.  He 
puts  on  his  coat  when  leaving  the  stables,  and 
unless  talking  strictly  horse,  is  subject  to  spells  of 
absent-mindedness.  He  is  less  coarse,  less  blus- 
tering, and  more  subdued  in  his  profanity.  He 
drinks  less,  and  differently ;  not  throwing  it  down 
with  the  careless  indifference  of  a  veteran,  but 
rather  sipping  it  thoughtfully,  like  as  one  who 
may  be  preoccupied  by  far  weightier  matters.  He 
is  gentler,  too,  in  his  work,  and  closely  attentive 


l80  A   STABLE  POEM. 

to  the  ladies  who  come  in  his  care,  and  more 
observant  of  lawns,  and  stores,  and  the  style  as 
affected  by  the  better  classes.  A  new  world  has 
opened  up  to  Slim  Jim,  —  a  world  that,  until 
recently,  has  been  veiled  in  a  great  darkness 
before  his  eyes.  The  cause  of  this  marvellous 
change  in  Slim  Jim  works  in  one  of  our  hat  fac- 
tories. She  is  seventeen  years  old,  apparently, 
and  a  spry-looking,  bright-eyed  girl.  We  saw  her 
go  by  the  office  the  other  day,  and  we  saw  Jim 
with  her,  and  then  we  understood  at  a  glance  the 
secret  of  the  great  change  which  has  fallen  upon 
our  horse  friend.  There  was  something  very 
interesting  in  this  spectacle,  and  something  beau- 
tiful in  the  conduct  of  Slim  Jim,  it  was  so  tender 
and  respectful.  There  were  about  four  feet  of 
space  between  them,  but  if  it  had  been  miles 
instead,  there  was  a  light  in  his  eye  which  showed 
that  his  heart  spanned  the  distance.  She  walked 
with  her  head  slightly  bent,  but  not  so  much  so  as 
to  hide  the  pleased  expression  of  her  face.  His 
face  was  radiant.  It  was  not  much  he  was  say- 
ing, as  his  lips  moved  but  little,  but  it  was  evident 
that  he  was  seriously  impairing  the  strength  of 
his  eyes,  in  trying  to  take  in  all  the  glory  of  her 
fresh  young  face,  with  those  organs  looking 
straight  ahead.  If  anything,  there  was  more 
color  in  his  face  than  in  hers,  but  he  undoubt- 
edly believed  the  public  was  unaware  of  it.  When 
he  got  opposite  the  stables,  he  left  her  to  cross 
the  street,  and  almost  pushed  her  over  in  his  trep- 


MRS.    COB  LEIGH'S  D/SH- WATER.  l8l 

idation.  Slim  Jim  is  submerged  in  a  sweet  dream, 
and  amid  its  golden  glories  he  is  losing  his  iden- 
tity. He  almost  went  to  church  with  her  last 
Sunday  night.  That  is,  he  casually  overtook  her 
on  her  return,  a  short  distance  from  the  door  of 
the  temple,  and  accompanied  her  home.  In  a 
very  short  time  he  will  be  standing  in  the  porch 
waiting  for  the  close  of  the  service,  and  later  still 
will  be  found  holding  a  hymn-book  with  her  in  a 
back  pew. 


MRS.    COBLEIGH'S   DISH-WATER. 

Mr.  Cobleigh  went  up  stairs  into  a  bedroom 
the  other  noon,  after  dinner,  to  move  a  heavy 
clothes-press  for  his  wife.  He  worked  away  at  it 
some  five  minutes,  and  was  getting  it  about  where 
he  wanted  it,  when  the  awful  affair  tipped  over 
and  came  down  so  suddenly  that  Mr.  Cobleigh 
was  unable  to  get  out  of  the  way  in  time,  and 
being  knocked  over  a  chair,  he  fell  in  such  a  way 
as  to  have  one  of  his  legs  pinned  in  between  the 
clothes-press  and  the  chair.  As  he  was  on  his 
breast,  he  found  himself  powerless  to  get  away, 
and  so  he  screamed  to  his  wife  to  come  to  his  aid. 
He  knew  he  could  make  her  hear  if  she  was  down 
stairs,  and  he  had  heard  her  moving  about  but  a 
moment  before.  But  there  was  no  response  to 
his   cries.     He    shouted    till    he   was    hoarse,  but 


1 82  MI^S.    COBLE/G/rS  DTSH-WATER. 

Still  no  answer.  Five  minutes  passed, — ten,  fif- 
teen. A  half-hour  was  gone.  It  seemed  almost 
a  century  to  the  imprisoned  man,  with  his  nose 
so  close  to  the  rag  carpet  that  it  seemed  as  if  he 
would  never  get  the  odor  out  of  his  system. 
Soon  he  heard  a  door  open  and  shut,  down  stairs, 
and  gathering  up  his  remaining  energies  he  gave 
a  final  yell.  In  a  moment  his  wife  had  reached 
him.  Her  first  prompting  was  to  ask  him  how 
he  came  in  such  a  plight,  but  a  glance  at  his 
inflamed  face  checked  the  prompting,  and  she 
speedily  set  to  work  to  rescue  him  from  his  un- 
happy position.  When  he  got  out  he  wanted  to 
know  where  in  thunder  she  'd  been,  leaving  him 
to  die  under  a  clothes-press.  She  said  she  had 
just  stepped  over  to  Mrs.  Murray's  "for  a  minute 
while  her  dish-water  was  cooling."  Mr.  Cobleigh 
did  n't  receive  this  explanation  with  a  very  good 
grace,  and  appeared  somewhat  disposed  to  reflect 
on  the  qualities  of  dish-water  for  cooling.  Mrs. 
Cobleigh  had  been  gone  nearly  three  quarters  of 
an  hour,  but  the  time  had  not  been  lost.  During 
that  brief  conference  with  Mrs.  Murray  she  had 
learned  a  new  style  of  knife-plaiting,  how  many 
yards  of  material  it  took  for  a  dolman,  what  was 
going  to  be  worn  in  the  way  of  an  overskirt,  what 
Mrs.  Murray's  hat  would  cost,  besides  a  thorough 
canvass  of  what  she  had  better  have  for  a  summer 
dress  just  to  wear  afternoons.  All  this  informa- 
tion Mrs.  Cobleigh  acquired  while  Mr.  Cobleigh 
was  closeted  with  the  clothes-press,  but  she  pru- 
dently kept  it  to  herself. 


AUTUMN  TINTS. 


MR.   COVILLE  TAPS   HIS   CIDER. 

When  Mr.  Coville  got  home  at  teatime  Satur- 
day evening,  he  found  that  an  ordered  barrel  of 
cider  had  been  delivered,  and  was  now  in  the 
cellar.  After  supper  he  went  down  to  tap  it. 
His  wife  carried  the  light,  and  Master  Coville 
added  the  attractions  of  his  personal  appearance 
to  the  procession.  Mr.  Coville,  armed  with  a 
faucet  and  a  hammer,  approached  the  barrel. 
Mrs.  Coville  held  the  light  in  the  usual  manner, 
that  is,  so  as  to  shut  out  everybody's  view  but  her 
own  from  the  desired  point.  Master  Coville  stood 
by  the  side  of  his  mother,  hanging  to  her  dress, 
and  greedily  taking  in  the  proceedings.  It  was 
a  delicate  operation,  removing  a  plug  and  insert- 
ing a  faucet  into  a  barrel  of  new  cider.  As  the 
head  of  the  house  proceeded  in  the  task,  the 
attention  of  the  observers  grew  more  and  more 
intense.  Gentle  taps  with  the  hammer,  alternat- 
ing on  each  side  of  the  plug,  loosened  it  gradually, 
but  surely.  When  it  was  sufficiently  loosed  to  be 
drawn  out  by  a  sharp  wrench  of  the  hand,  Mr. 


184  AUTUMN  TINTS. 

Coville  proceeded  to  give  it  the  wrench  in  ques- 
tion, but  was  somewhat  anticipated  by  the  plug 
itself,  which,  suddenly  leaving  the  barrel  and 
plunging  into  Mr.  Coville's  waistband,  was  imme- 
diately followed  by  a  tremendous  burst  of  cider. 
As  the  plug  struck  him,  Mr.  Coville  was  inclined 
to  double  forward,  but  was  at  once  diverted  from 
this  purpose  by  the  cider,  and  went  over  on  his 
back  instead,  throwing  the  hammer  impulsively, 
and  dragging  down  Mrs.  Coville  spasmodically. 
The  extinguishing  of  the  light  in  the  descent  left 
the  family  in  total  darkness,  relieved  only  by  the 
gasping  sounds  of  Mr.  Coville,  the  moans  of  Mrs. 
Coville,  and  the  indignant  cries  of  Master  Coville, 
who,  being  caught  under  his  mother  in  the  over- 
throw, was  madly  endeavoring  to  extricate  him- 
self, and  vociferating  the  awful  things  he  would 
do  if  he  was  not  at  once  relieved.  The  whole 
effect  was  most  appallingly  heightened  by  the  hiss 
and  splash  of  the  escaping  cider.  In  a  moment 
the  unhappy  family  were  on  their  feet,  and  drag- 
ging their  dripping  and  somewhat  ruffled  plumage 
up  the  stairs  and  into  the  light.  Another  lamp 
was  secured,  and  Mr.  Coville  hastened  down  stairs, 
when  he  not  only  discovered  that  the  cider  was 
entirely  gone,  but  that  the  hammer,  in  its  flight, 
had  taken  in  the  hanging  shelf  on  which  had 
reposed  twenty-two  glass  jars  of  preserves,  and 
rendered  nineteen  of  them,  with  their  contents, 
a  heap  of  ruins.  The  remarks  Mr.  Coville  de- 
signed delivering  in  a  high  key  of  voice  on  discov- 


AUTUMN  TINTS.  1 85 

ering  the  loss  of  his  cider  were  utterly  submerged 
in  the  horror  of  the  subsequent  discovery,  and  he 
hastily  hurried  up  stairs  and  passed  silently  to 
bed.  The  next  morning  he  did  not  wait  for  break- 
fast, but  was  earlier  at  the  store  than  he  had  been 
in  seven  years,  and  remained  there  until  night. 
He  rightly  conjectured  that  his  wife's  feelings,  on 
viewing  the  preserve  wreck,  would  be  too  sacred 
for  observation. 


A  WRETCHED   CUSTOM. 

Come,  now,  what  infernal  barbarity  is  this, 
leaving  a  clothes-line  out  after  dark !  A  great 
deal  of  funny  comment  has  been  made  upon  the 
custom  by  thoughtless  people,  but  it  is  a  most 
serious  matter,  and  it  is  high  time  the  tomfoolery 
was  abolished.  We  are  just  as  ready  as  anybody 
to  see  the  funny  side  of  a  thing,  but  we  have 
ceased  to  observe  anything  amusing  in  being 
unexpectedly  sawed  across  the  neck,  or  rasped 
across  the  face,  by  a  clothes-line.  It  is  time  there 
was  a  legislative  enactment  to  either  hang  clothes- 
lines sixty  feet  above  the  earth,  or  make  leaving 
them  out  after  nightfall  a  State-prison  offence.  It 
is  a  most  incomprehensible  fact  that  a  clothes-line 
is  always  hung  across  the  garden  path. 

If  the  yard  was  ten  miles  square,  and  a  path 


1 86  AUTUMN  TINTS. 

two  feet  wide  crept  along  close  to  the  fence,  and 
the  woman  had  but  eight  feet  of  line,  she  would 
manage  to  cover  the  path.  Whether  this  is  be- 
cause she  is  perverse,  or  cannot  help  it,  we  do  not 
know.  We  only  know  that  it  is  so,  and  that  it  is 
an  appalling  evil;  No  home  circle  is  safe  where 
this  custom  prevails.  It  matters  not  how  good- 
natured  a  man  is,  it  matters  not  how  carefully  he 
has  been  educated,  it  matters  not  how  lofty  and 
noble  are  his  aspirations,  the  moment  a  clothes- 
line catches  him  under  the  chin,  especially  if  he 
has  a  pan  of  ashes  in  his  arms,  that  moment  he 
sinks  with  awful  velocity  to  the  level  of  a  brute, 
and  proceeds  to  act  out  the  conditions  thereof  at 
once.  In  its  proper  place,  a  clothes-line  is  a  val- 
uable companion,  but  across  a  path  after  dark,  it 
is  simply  a  brutalizing  force. 


A   MELANCHOLY   EPISODE. 

It  was  at  this  season  of  the  year,  just  seven 
years  ago,  that  an  extraordinary  scene  occurred  in 
Danbury.  It  was  in  the  evening,  and  a  couple 
were  bringing  in  several  pots  of  plants  from  the 
yard  to  save  them  from  the  frost,  which  the  tem- 
perature of  outdoors  threatened.  While  thus  en- 
gaged she  spoke,  referring  to  a  geranium  she  had 
in  her  hand  :  — 


AUTUMN  TINTS.  1 87 

"  I  would  n't  lose  this  for  a  great  deal,  as  mother 
gave  it  to  me." 

He  looked  at  it. 

"Your  mother  gave  it  to  you?  Guess  not.  I 
bought  that  plant  myself." 

"Why,  it's  no  such  thing!" 

"  I  tell  you  I  did ! "  speaking  with  much  warmth, 

"And  I  tell  you  you  did  n't,"  she  firmly  assev- 
erated, "  Do  you  suppose  I  don't  know  what  was 
given  to  me .''" 

"  Do  you  suppose  I  don't  know  what  I  bought 
with  my  own  money  .'" 

"If  you  say  you  bought  that  geranium,"  she 
said,  speaking  very  slowly,  and  with  white  lips, 
"you  say  what  you  know  to  be  false." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  I  lie  .-•  "  he  hissed, 

"  If  you  say  that,  I  do." 

"  You  shall  be  sorry  for  this,"  he  threatened, 

"  Never  ! "  she  retorted. 

He  put  on  his  hat  and  coat,  and  left  the  house. 

That  was  seven  years  ago  this  fall.  She  never 
saw  him  again,  nor  heard  from  him  in  all  that 
seven  years.  What  must  have  been  the  thoughts, 
the  agony  of  mind,  endured  by  that  wretched  wife 
in  that  time,  no  one  on  earth  knows.  She  kept 
her  thoughts  to  herself,  and  patiently,  as  far  as 
outward  appearance  went,  bore  the  burden  put 
upon  her. 

On  Friday  evening  of  last  week  her  door  opened, 
and  a  man  walked  into  her  presence.  There  was 
a  look,  a  cry,  and  she  was  in  the  arms  of  her  hus- 


loo  AUTUMN  TINTS. 

band.  What  a  happy  home  was  that !  All  the 
agony  of  the  seven  long  years  was  forgotten  in 
that  hour  of  reconciliation  and  reunion.  A  hearty 
supper  was  spread,  and  with  tears  and  smiles  she 
hovered  about  him,  ministering  to  every  want. 
After  supper  there  was  a  long  talk  of  the  past. 

"  It  is  so  singular,"  she  said,  speaking  in  one  of 
the  pauses,  "  that  it  should  have  happened  as  it 
did.  I  can  scarcely  comprehend  it  all.  It  seems 
like  an  awful  dream.  We  both  lost  our  tempers, 
and  we  have  both  suffered  for  it.  The  miserable 
geranium  !  Do  you  know  that  I  cannot  bear  to 
see  one  of  those  plants }  I  told  mother  to  come 
and  take  it  back,  for  I  would  n't  have  it  in  sight." 

"  What !"  he  ejaculated.  "Do  you  still  persist 
in  saying  that  she  gave  it  to  you  .-^ "  . 

"Why,  John,  of  course  she  did.  Haven't  you 
got  over  that  idea  yet  1  " 

"No,  I  haven't,"  he  persisted,  his  face  darken- 
ing. "  I  bought  that  geranium  just  as  sure  as  I  'm 
a  living  man." 

She  thought  of  his  years  of  cruel  desertion,  of 
all  he  had  caused  her  to  suffer,  because  of  his 
obstinacy,  and  her  heart  hardened  and  her  face 
flushed. 

"  You  are  mean  to  say  that,  when  you  know  it 
is  false." 

"  It  is  n't  false.     It 's  heaven's  truth." 

"  It 's  no  such  thing.  It 's  a  mean,  contempt- 
ible lie." 

He  jumped  up  from  the  chair,  seized  his  hat  and 


AUTUMN  TINTS.  1 89 

coat,  and  shot  out  of  the  house  in  a  flash,  and  she 
never  uttered  a  word  in  protest.  She  sat  there  with 
chnched  hands  and  a  white  face,  and  let  him  go. 

And  so  he  is  gone.     And  to-day  she  is  alone 
again  with  the  old  burden  and  the  old  pain. 


MRS.    SNIPKINS'S   PLUMS. 

Mr.  Snipkins,  a  little  man  with  wiry  side- 
whiskers  and  a  bald  head,  is  very  fond  of  a  social 
time.  The  other  day  he  invited  several  of  his 
fellow-clerks  to  spend  the  evening  at  his  house, 
the  programme  embracing  euchre  and  "  hot  stuff." 
The  boys  were  to  be  up  to  the  house  at  eight 
o'clock.  Mr.  Snipkins  went  home  to  get  his  tea, 
and  prepare  for  them  by  working  Mrs.  Snipkins 
into  the  proper  mood  for  the  occasion.  He  was 
aware  that  unless  that  excellent  lady  was  in  a 
pliable  humor,  the  possibility  of  working  a  half- 
dozen  men  into  the  house  was  the  most  chimerical 
of  all  chimeras.  At  eight  o'clock  the  invited 
guests,  with  two  decks  of  cards  and  a  quart  bottle, 
approached  the  house.  They  found  Mr.  Snipkins 
at  the  gate.  He  had  been  waiting  for  them. 
There  was  a  troubled  look  on  his  face. 

"  It 's  too  bad,  boys,"  he  said,  apologetically, 
"but  I'm  afraid  that  —  that  we'll  have  to  post- 
pone our  little  affair  until  another  evening." 


190  AUTUMN  TINTS. 

*' Why,  what  's  the  row  ?" 

"Well,  you  see,"  said  Snipkins,  hesitatingly, 
and  with  an  apprehensive  look  to  the  house,  "it  's 
the  old  lady.  I  'm  sorry,  boys,  but  it  can't  be 
helped,  — it  really  can't  be  helped.  I  did  n't  know 
she  was  doing  it,  of  course,  when  I  invited  you 
for  to-night,  or  I  would  n't  'a'  done  it." 

"Doing  what.'*"  asked  the  man  who  had  the 
bottle. 

"  Doing  grapes,"  replied  Snipkins.  "  You  see 
the  man  came  with  them  this  afternoon,  an'  she 
skinned  them  an'  had  them  on  a  b'iling  when  I 
got  home ;  an'  they  've  been  b'iling  ever  since, 
but  they  don't  jell.  No,  no,"  Mr.  Snipkins  shook 
his  head  despondently,  "they  don't  jell  worth  a 
cent.  She  's  got  a  roaring  old  fire,  an'  she  's  red 
as  a  beet  in  the  face,  an'  she  whips  around  there 
without  saying  a  word,  but  looking  volumes.  I 
tell  you,  boys,  I  'm  mighty  sorry,  but  it  won't  do. 
There  's  no  use  talking  party  when  grapes  act 
like  them.  We  '11  have  to  put  it  off  another 
night."  Mr.  Snipkins  spoke  with  so  much  feel- 
ing, and  cast  so  many  apprehensive  glances  to- 
ward the  house,  that  the  party  were  convinced 
of  the  futility  of  their  plans  for  the  evening,  and 
at  once  retired. 


Several  million  people  have  been  trying  this 
month  of  October  to  get  the  best  of  a  stove-pipe. 
But  they  have  n't  done  it ;  they  never  have  done 


AUTUMN-  TINTS.  I9I 

it;  they  never  will.  However  well  they  may  have 
matched  last  year,  no  two  lengths  of  pipe  will 
match  this  year.  You  may  put  marks  a  foot 
long  ujDon  them,  but  this  will  not  do.  You  may 
lock  up  each  length  in  a  room  by  itself,  but  yet 
when  they  come  to  be  used  you  will  find  they 
will  not  come  together  as  they  came  apart.  We 
can't  tell  in  what  way  it  was  done,  but  we  are 
certain  those  lengths  came  out  of  that  room  in 
some  way,  and  exchanged  places  with  each.  If 
not,  why  are  they  so  unfitted  to  each  other .-'  It  is 
utterly  impossible  to  get  the  best  of  a  stove-pipe. 
What  will  expand  one  length  will  contract  another, 
and  even  a  single  length  has  been  known  to  ex- 
pand at  one  end  while  it  contracted  at  the  other. 
There  is  a  subtle  influence  in  the  atmosphere 
which  causes  this.  No  one  has  as  yet  been  able 
to  discover  what  this  is,  and  until  it  is  made 
known  there  is  no  use  expecting  to  get  a  stove- 
pipe safely  together,  even  if  you  should  set  on  the 
lengths  all  summer,  and  have  your  meals  brought 
to  you. 


The  most  melancholy  aspect  of  this  melancholy 
season  of  the  year  is  not  in  the  evidences  of  a 
dying  nature,  but  is  manifest  in  that  part  of  the 
home  known  as  the  kitchen.  There  is  a  damp,  dis- 
mal, exhausted  air  about  the  kitchen  these  morn, 
ings,  which  gives  it  an  appearance  of  having  been 
wrung  out.     The  flies  have  gone,  but  they  have  left 


192  AUTUMN  TINTS. 

sufficient  indications  of  their  sojourn  on  the  wii- 
dow-glass,  the  casings,  and  walls,  and  also  on  the 
several  dishes  which  are  brought  out  from  the  re- 
cesses of  the  pantry  and  deposited  on  the  breakfast- 
table  to  be  washed.  The  temperature  of  the  room, 
owing  to  the  escaping  steam,  the  fact  that  the  door 
opens  either  outdoors  or  into  a  passageway,  and 
a  raised  window,  is  chilling  and  depressing.  The 
temper  of  the  genius  presiding  over  the  whole  is 
somewhat  similar.  Dabs  of  breakfast  refuse  raise 
their  mournful  heads  here- and  there.  The  dirt 
from  the  floor  is  huddled  up  on  the  zinc,  and  show- 
ing a  disposition  to  resist  being  shoved  out  of 
sight  under  the  stove.  But  the  most  depressing 
feature  of  the  scene  is  a  part  of  the  last  watermelon 
of  the  season,  tasteless  and  flabby,  as  if  it  had  ab- 
sorbed within  itself  a  portion  of  the  scents,  flavor, 
and  characteristics  of  its  surroundings  ;  and  when 
the  man  of  the  house  looks  over  the  room  and  its 
contents,  and  feels  his  heart  sink  within  him,  he 
is  confident  that  without  the  melon  the  general 
desolation  would  be  without  a  fitting  climax. 


Mr.  Whipple,  who  is  a  clerk  in  a  dry-goods 
store,  has  been  requested  by  Mrs.  Whipple  to 
bring  home  a  box  to  keep  potatoes  in.  Her 
father,  who  is  a  farmer,  had  promised  to  bring 
her  a  bushel  of  potatoes,  and  she  was  expecting 
him  in  every  day  with  them.  There  was  no  place 
to  put  them,  unless  they  were  laid  on  the  cellar 


AUTUMN  TINTS.  193 

floor,  which  was  not  considered  desirable  in  domes- 
tic economy.  Mr.  Whipple  was  a  good  man.  He 
promised  to  bring  up  the  box.  He  honestly  meant 
to  do  so.  There  can  be  no  doubt  of  that.  Satur- 
day Mrs.  Whipple's  father  came  with  the  potatoes, 
but  there  was  no  box  to  receive  them,  so  he 
dumped  them  in  a  heap  on  the  floor.  That  night 
at  tea  Mrs.  Whipple,  seeing  Mr.  Whipple  without 
the  box,  told  him,  with  deep  feelings,  the  result. 
Mr.  Whipple  was  contrite,  but  he  said  that  he 
could  n't  think  of  everything,  and  spoke  with 
some  resentment.  Late  in  the  evening  he  went 
down  in  the  cellar,  with  a  lamp  and  a  pitcher,  for 
cider,  and  stepping  on  the  potatoes  which  he  did 
not  notice,  and  which  he  had  forgotten  all  about, 
he  was  struck  with  the  impression  that  the  entire 
cellar  was  slipping  away  from  him,  and  seeking 
to  save  himself  he  smashed  the  lamp  on  the  floor 
at  one  side,  and  smashed  the  pitcher  on  the  other 
side.  Then  he  struck  tfie  back  of  his  head  against 
a  post  with  a  view  to  illuminating  the  cellar  (in 
which  he  succeeded).  Then  he  rolled  over,  and 
got  on  his  knees,  and  crawled  slowly  and  painfully 
up  stairs,  the  whole  performance  taking  scarcely 
ten  minutes. 


194  AUTUMN  TINTS. 


A  NOVEMBER   FROLIC. 

To-day  is  a  genuine  November  day.  The  air 
is  keenly  cold,  the  sky  is  clear  of  clouds ;  the  sun 
shines  as  clear  as  a  diamond,  its  rays  yielding  the 
same  amount  of  heat ;  the  roads  are  hard  and  gray ; 
the  wind  comes  in  overpowering  gusts,  taking  up 
the  dust  and  sending  it  in  flying  volumes  through 
every  street.  It  has  all  the  peculiarities  which 
have  distinguished  this  wind  above  the  wind  of 
any  other  month  since  time  began.  Chief  among 
these  is  the  quality  of  not  appearing* when  ex- 
pected, and  of  not  being  expected  when  it  does 
appear.  This  wind  is  holding  high  carnival 
to-day.  It  is  rattling  the  windows,  and  trying 
the  doors,  and  investigating  ash-heaps,  and  carry- 
ing pails  from  the  back  stoops.  It  is  playing  all 
sorts  of  strange  music  around  the  corners  and 
through  the  trees.  It  is  thundering  over  the 
meadows,  and  dancing  giddily  through  the  streets. 
It  is  such  a  free-and-easy  wind,  such  an  impu- 
dent trifler  with  the  property  of  others. 

We  hardly  dare  say  how  many  hats  have  crossed 
the  perspective  from  our  window  and  gone  rolling 
down  the  street  in  the  last  half-hour,  but  it  seems 
as  if  there  had  been  an  almost  unbroken  proces- 
sion of  them. 

There  is  a  dreadful  fascination  in  observing  them, 
—  in  seeing  a  hat  appear,  and  immediately  behind 


AUTUMN  TINTS.  195 

it  the  owner.  So  closely  does  he  follow  upon  it 
that  there  is  bare  chance  from  seeing  the  hat  to 
speculate  as  to  what  sort  of  a  person  the  wearer 
must  be,  when  he  appears  on  the  scene  himself. 

The  first  hat  belonged  to  a  boy.  It  was  a  little 
hat  with  a  very  round  crown  and  a  stiff  brim,  and 
it  sailed  along  on  the  brim.  The  owner  thereof  was 
close  upon  it,  putting  in  his  very  best,  and  making 
both  of  his  legs  appear  like  twenty  legs  in  the 
rapidity  of  their  movements.  He  finally  captured 
it  by  the  ingenious  device  of  jumping  on  it  with 
both  feet.  Then  he  picked  it  up,  brushed  it  off 
with  his  elbow,  slapped  it  on  to  his  head,  and 
immediately  put  after  another  boy  on  whose  face 
he  just  then  detected  a  dishonest  smile. 

Then  came  a  large  soft  hat,  whirling  swiftly, 
and  following  it  was  a  cloud  of  dust,  and  in  the 
cloud,  like  some  improved  allegory,  was  the  owner 
of  the  hat.  He  was  a  farmer  in  appearance,  and 
wore  a  coat  so  long  in  its  skirts  as  to  greatly 
impede  the  free  and  graceful  action  of  his  limbs. 
His  lips  were  tight  together,  and  his  hands 
clinched,  as  if  he  were  completely  immersed  in 
intense  thought,  as  he  undoubtedly  was.  The  hat 
struck  against  a  post  and  settled  there,  and  he 
made  a  spiteful  dive  for  it,  and  then  it  lifted  up 
and  moved  on,  and  he  started  off  after  it,  and 
both  passed  out  of  sight.  Perhaps  the  wind  may 
go  down  with  the  sun. 

It  is  just  as  well  he  got  away  as  he  did,  for 
immediately   after   two    hats   came    rolling   along 


196  AUTUMN  TINTS. 

over  and  over,  and  two  men,  puffing  and  blowing, 
and  very  mad,  as  every  motion  indicated,  came 
dashing  after  them.  Just  then  a  boy's  hat  ap- 
peared, and  being  either  lighter,  or  more  favorable 
to  the  wind,  than  the  others,  speedily  overtook 
them,  and  the  boy  himself  made  such  remarkable 
headway  that  he  was  soon  up  to  the  men,  very 
much  to  their  disgust,  as  his  wild  appearance  and 
yells  added  none  whatever  to  the  dignity  of  their 
position.  For  an  instant  the  three  were  abreast, 
and  then  the  boy  went  ahead,  and  at  the  same 
time  his  hat  rolled  over  and  stopped.  One  more 
bound  and  he  was  to  it,  and  throwing  himself  down 
to  secure  it,  threw  himself  exactly  in  the  way  of  the 
two  flying  men.  There  was  no  time  to  stop  ;  there 
was  no  time  to  think.  In  a  flash  the  two  went 
over  him,  a  fierce  gust  of  dust  enveloped  them, 
and  through  the  maze,  on  which  the  clear  sunlit 
fell  and  transformed  the  atoms  into  gold,  there 
appeared  an  incredible  number  of  arms  and  legs 
cutting  the  air  and  smiting  at  each  other  in  hope- 
less confusion.  Then  the  scramble  being  over 
the  two  men  got  up  on  their  feet  and  glared  at 
each  other  with  inflamed  passion  distorting  their 
faces,  in  absence  of  any  opportunity  to  vent  their 
wrath  on  the  boy,  who,  by  that  mysterious  process 
peculiar  to  boys,  had  secured  his  hat  and  prudently 
retired  to  a  safe  distance.  What  the  two  men 
would  have  done  unto  each  other  had  there  been 
the  chance,  is  not  known,  but  the  loss  of  their  hats 
happening  to  strike  them  simultaneously,  they  at 


AUTUMN  TINTS.  197 

once  put  off  aft-er  them,  running'  side  by  side  with 
delightful  harmony. 

As  we  close  this  little  sketch  we  glance  again 
out  of  the  window.  A  silk  hat  is  rolling  by. 
Like  a  porpoise  it  rolls  from  side  to  side,  and 
tumbles  ahead.  In  active  pursuit  is  a  tall  man 
with  elongated  face.  He  is  dressed  in  the  extreme 
of  fashion.  He  is  a  city  man,  and  his  clothes  are 
city  made.  He  did  not  come  here  to  show  them, 
but  now  that  he  is  here  he  is  glad  to  display  them, 
and  is  satisfied  to  bask  in  the  sunshine  of  the 
peasantry's  admiration.  At  this  present  moment 
he  is  not  basking,  although  the  sunshine  is  in 
abundance,  as  the  peasantry  are  on  the  corners, 
on  the  hotel  porch,  in  the  post-office  door,  before 
the  salocn,  looking  upon  him  with  all  the  eyes 
they  possess,  and  admiring  and  enjoying  him  as 
he  can  never  hope  to  be  admired  and  enjoyed 
again  in  his  life.  And  his  flushed  face  shows  that 
he  knows  he  is  doing  something  that  interests 
and  comforts  them.  He  has  a  very  red  face,  and 
very  staring  eyes,  and  a  very  murderous  expres- 
sion generally.  The  cruel  wind  has  wrenched  his 
hair  from  its  pomade  fastenings  and  thrown  it 
over  his  eyes  and  across  his  ears,  and  wrong  way 
up  the  back  of  his  head.  It  has  sent  the  tails  of 
his  coat  to  the  front  in  a  very  undignified  manner. 
It  has  blown  his  trousers  legs  to  the  front  also, 
filling  them  out  like  bellying  sails,  and  leaving  at 
the  back  an  unexpected  thinness  of  shank  to  the 
astonished  view  of  the  beholder. 


19^  AUTUMN   TINTS. 

He  ran  with  all  his  strength,  and  while  he  ran 
the  peasantry  cheered  and  shouted  and  laughed. 
Every  few  strides  he  would  pause  and  invite  the 
peasantry  to  step  out  in  the  road  and  have  their 
several  heads  knocked  off.  Then  he  would  go  on 
again.  And  so  he  has  passed  from  sight  and 
from  the  town,  with  life  before  him  and  the  grand 
Atlantic  but  twenty-two  miles  ahead. 


THE  SMALL  BOY. 


A   MISERABLE   SON. 

She  was  a  Nelson  Street  woman  with  more  than 
the  usual  amount  of  cares  cast  to  her  lot.  Her 
husband  was  very  sick,  with  no  hope  whatever  of 
his  recovery.  She  sat  in  the  kitchen,  alone  by 
herself,  the  other  evening,  trying  to  rest  herself, 
when  the  silence  was  broken  by  a  scuffling  and 
shouting  and  howling  in  the  street.  She  paused 
a  moment  in  an  effort  to  distinguish  the  nature  of 
the  trouble  by  the  sounds  it  was  sending  forth. 
As  she  listened,  one  cry  rose  above  another.  At 
its  coming  her  cheeks  flushed,  and  hastily  throw- 
ing a  shawl  over  her  head,  she  went  out  to  the 
front  just  in  time  to  receive  her  own  son,  and  to 
see  the  son  of  the  excellent  woman  ne.xt  door 
being  led  into  the  house,  weeping  and  moaning, 
by  his  mother.  She  took  in  this  situation  in  a 
glance,  and  then  the  color  entirely  left  her  face. 

"  Come  here  !  "  The  fury  of  a  century  was 
compressed  in  that  command.  The  youth  was  on 
the  point  of  dodging  around  the  house  when  these 
two  words  smote  his  purpose  and  clove  it  in  twain. 


200  THE  SMALL  BOY. 

She  took  him  by  the  collar,  and  fairly  skimmed 
him  through  the  hall  and  to  the  kitchen.  There 
was  a  nameless  fear  in  her  heart.  Her  face  was 
very  white,  and  the  fingers  which  grasped  the 
collar  of  his  jacket  worked  with  a  spasmodic 
twitching. 

"  What 's  the  matter  out  there  } "  she  demanded, 
in  a  low,  concentrated  voice. 

"  Nothin'." 

"  What  was  you  doing,  I  say .-' " 

"Well,"  snuffled  the  pinned-down  youth,  "Bill, 
he  took  an'  kicked  over  my  wagon,  an'  I  just  let 
him  have  one  across  the  snoot." 

"You  struck  him,  you  good-for-nothing  imp  .-• " 
she  hissed. 

"Well,  he'd  no  right  to  kick  my — "  He 
stopped  just  there.  There  was  a  look  in  his 
mother's  face  that  choked  off  his  utterance.  The 
eyes  that  looked  down  in  his  were  ablaze  with  pas- 
sion. It  seemed  as  if  their  fire  would  burn  into 
his  very  soul.  She  drove  him  down  to  the  floor, 
and  held  him  there  as  if  he  had  been  pinned  by 
iron  bands. 

"What  do  you  mean,"  she  hissed,  "by  making 
this  row.''  (Shake.)  Don't  you  know  what  you 
are  doing  .''  Can  I  never  keep  you  out  of  deviltry  .'' 
(Shake.)  I  '11  learn  you  better,  or  I  '11  smash  every 
bone  in  your  body,  you  miserable  brat!  (Shake.) 
How  dare  you  strike  that  woman's  boy,  when  your 
father  's  here  at  death's  door,  and  she  has  the  best 
chairs  in   the   neighborhood  ?      Oh  !  "  she  added, 


THE  SMALL   BOY.  '  20I 

with  a  passionate  sob,  "that  heaven  should  curse 
me  with  such  an  unfeeling  brute  for  a  son  !  "  And 
throwing  him  from  her,  she  dropped  in  a  chair, 
and  buried  her  face  in  her  apron  to  hide  the  tears 
of  bitter  shame. 


WHAT   SHE   DIED  OF, 

A  CURIOUS  animal  is  the  boy.  Two  of  them 
were  gomg  through  Pine  Street  the  other  morn- 
ing, when,  as  they  were  about  passing  each  other, 
one  of  them  said,  — 

"You  don't  know  who  's  dead  at  the  baker's  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  do,  too." 

They  had  now  passed  each  other,  and  were 
walking  backwards  so  as  to  confront  one  another 

"  Who  is  it  ?  " 

"  It 's  the  baker's  wife." 

"Ho,  ho!"  laughed  the  other,  derisively,  "that 
shows  all  you  know  about  it.  It  ain't  the  baker's 
wife  at  all ;  it  is  his  wife's  sister." 

The  advocate  of  the  wife  flushed  deeply  at  this. 

"  Smart,  ain't  you }  "  he  shouted,  for  the  dis- 
tance between  them  had  grown  considerable.  "  I 
bjt  you  don't  know  what  she  died  of." 

"'■  What  '11  you  bet }  "  yelled  the  other. 

"  I  '11  bet  you  anything." 

"  I  bet  you  don't  know  yourself  what  she  died 
of." 


202  THE  SMALL  BOY. 

"Yes,  I  do!' 

"  What  was  it,  now  ? " 

"  Well,  I  know,  and  you  don't." 

"  Yes,  I  do,  too.  She  died  of  consumption," 
said  the  other  in  desperation. 

"  Ho,  ho,  ho !  what  a  greeny,"  shouted  the 
other,  in  a  burst  of  joyful  triumph.  "  Consump- 
tion !  Ho,  ho,  he,  he !  Well,  if  I  did  n't  know 
more  than  that  I  'd  go  put  my  head  to  soak." 

Redder  than  fire  grew  the  face  of  the  defeated 
boy. 

"  If  you  know  so  much,  what  was  it  she  died 
of  .?  " 

"  She  died  of  typhoid  fever! "  shouted  the  victor, 
his  features  radiant  with  the  reflection. 

"  Huh  ! "  responded  the  other  boy,  "  I  knew 
that  all  the  time.  I  was  only  codding  you  with 
consumption." 

And  they  both  turned  and  pursued  their  respec- 
tive ways,  neither  being  quite  satisfied  with  the 
result. 


THE  BOY   BARNACLE. 

He  was  a  street  Arab,  and  walking  down  town 
ahead  of  us  the  other  morning.  We  had  a  good 
view  of  him,  and  fell  to  studying  his  clothes. 
There  was  a  mossy  grayness  to  his  garments. 
His  shoes  were  broken   at  the  tops  and  at  the 


THE  SMALL   BOY.  203 

sides,  and  run  over  at  the  heels  ;  they  were  very 
gray.  The  stockings  which  showed  above  the 
tops  seemed  to  be  but  a  continuation  of  the  shoes. 
His  pants  were  broken  in  places,  and  had  been 
patched  and  fallen  away  again.  The  same  of  his 
jacket,  which  exhibited,  in  addition,  feeble  green- 
ish-yellow patches,  frayed  out  at  the  edges,  and 
worn  into  a  glossy  shimmer  in  the  centre.  His 
shirt  collar  was  as  brown  as  the  neck  which  it 
guarded.  His  hair,  stumpy  and  unkempt,  was  held 
down  by  a  brimless  hat,  as  gray  and  as  old  as  the 
rest  of  his  apparel.  It  was  a  spirit  of  repose 
resting  upon  the  whole  which  made  this  boy  con- 
spicuous. Age  showed  in  every  lineament  of 
the  fabrics.  Wrinkles  had  become  ridges.  From 
the  crown  of  his  head  to  the  sole  of  his  feet  the 
boy  and  the  clothes  looked  as  if  they  were  one 
solid  piece,  undivided  and  inseparable.  It  did  not 
seem  as  if  the  garments  had  ever  been  off  of  him 
since  they  were  fitted  to  him.  This  was  early  in 
the  morning,  but  they  appeared  no  different  late 
last  night,  nor  will  they  look  different  late  to- 
night. It  must  have  required  time  to  have  given 
the  shoes  and  the  stockings,  and  the  pants  and 
the  jacket,  that  appearance  of  eternal  rest  and  rust 
which  envelops  them.  Did  he  take  them  off  last 
night,  and  put  them  on  fresh  this  morning  '^. 
Impossible !  He  could  not  have  removed  and 
returned  them  again  without  their  showing  in 
some  particular  that  they  had  been  disturbed. 
But  they  do  not  show  it.     The  rust,  the  dirt,  the 


204  THE  SMALL  BOY. 

caking,  the  wrinkles,  and  the  mossy  repose  are 
the  same  to-day  as  they  were  yesterday,  and  as 
they  will  be  to-morrow.  And  yet  they  do  not 
look  as  if  he  had  been  abed  in  them.  We  know 
he  never  undresses.  Mu'St  we  believe  that  he 
never  sleeps  ? 


A   PAIR   OF   MORTIFYING   BREECHES. 

It  was  Monday  morning,  the  first  day  of  school. 
He  was  on  his  way  there  with  a  companion.  He 
wore  blue  breeches.  A  most  startling  blue  they 
were,  — not  this  navy  blue  so  common  to  clothes, 
but  a  light  dazzling  blue,  seen  only  in  those  toys 
made  up  for  the  enjoyment  of  young  folks.  These 
breeches  fitted  close  to  his  fat  limbs.  They  were 
very  beautful,  and  added  largely  to  the  scenery  of 
White  Street  as  he  bounded  along  that  picturesque 
avenue.  We  never  saw  such  breeches  as  these  in 
all  our  long  and  active  life.  The  color  was  so 
bright,  the  fit  so  snug,  that  to  see  them  was  to 
soothe  and  nourish  the  mind.  He  and  his  com- 
panion were  "chasing,"  —  that  is,  they  were  run- 
ning without  any  particular  object  in  view.  It 
was  the  exuberance  of  youth  that  sent  their  legs 
flying.  He  wore  a  coat  with  tails,  and  every  time 
his  legs  flew  up  the  tails  flew  up,  and  the  blue 
fairly  filled  the  air.  The  beauty  of  the  scene  was 
almost  suffocating.     It  must  have  been  a  great 


THE  SMALL   BOY.  205 

joy  to  the  other  boy  to  be  with  him.  Pretty  soon 
they  came  upon  a  party  of  other  boys  somewhat 
younger  than  they,  and  one  of  these  —  a  very 
depraved  nature  he  must  have  had — derisively 
yelled  out,  — 

"  Blue  breeches  !  Oh,  blue  breeches  !  Ki,  yi ! 
See  blue  breeches  !  " 

It  was  an  awful  blow.  The  owner  of  the  ceru- 
lean garment  lost  the  color  in  his  face,  and  it 
was  only  by  a  mighty  effort  that  he  summoned 
the  strength  to  appear  indifferent.  It  was  no 
use. 

"  Ho,  ho,  ho  !  Look  at  the  blue  breeches ! " 
again  shouted  the  offender. 

Like  a  flash,  the  wearer  of  the  adornment  rushed 
upon  him  to  crush  him  into  the  earth.  It  was  a 
fatal  move. 

"  Blue  breeches,  blue  breeches !  "  screamed  an- 
other miscreant. 

He  turned  upon  the  second  offender. 

It  was  a  feeling  of  mutual  defence  that  prompted 
another  to  take  up  the  cry,  and  then  a  fourth,  and 
so  on. 

He  went  at  one  only  to  be  called  to  another, 
and  the  air  fairly  quivered  with  the  cry  which 
now  became  a  roar.  He  was  about  wild  with  the 
din,  — 

"Blue  breeches!  blue  breeches!  blue  breeches!" 

It  was  no  use  to  fight  them.  They  were  like 
wasps.  The  bombardment  was  so  terrible  that 
he  was  glad  to  beat  an  ignominious  retreat,  and 


206  THE  SMALL  BOY. 

the  once  proud  garment  disappeared  in  humiliating 
flight. 

Poor  boy  !  He  may  be  obliged  to  wear  those 
breeches  for  months,  to  suffer  day  by  day  a  torture 
worse  than  death.  How  can  parents  be  so  cruel  ? 
How  can  they,  when  the  spring  has  come,  the 
tender  buds  are  opening,  and  the  songs  of  the 
birds  fill  the  air  with  sweet  melody,  put  on 
the  dye-kettle  and  color  a  pair  of  breeches  like 
that  ? 

It  is  simply  infernal. 


THE   BOY   AT   CHURCH. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Pryden  took  their  little  boy  to 
church  Sunday.  It  was  his  first  day  in  pants,  and 
his  first  time  in  church.  For  the  first  half  of  the 
service  he  was  fully  absorbed  in  things  about  him, 
and  the  novelty  of  the  situation.  After  that  his 
mind  turned  in  upon  himself,  and  he  began  to  pay 
exclusive  attention  to  his  own  wants,  and  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Pryden,  from  an  exulting  feeling  of  pride, 
gradually  slipped  down  an  inclined  plane  of  anx- 
iety which  emptied  into  an  abyss  of  despair.  The 
number  of  positions  the  youth  got  into,  and  the 
wants  he  manifested,  would  seem  incredible  were 
they  not  actually  witnessed  by  a  full  score  of 
respectable  people.     As  soon  as  he  took  in  a  real 


THE  SMALL  BOY.  20/ 

izing  sense  of  his  own  identity,  Master  Pryden 
began  to  comprehend  and  respond  to  the  demands 
of  his  nature.  He  got  upon  his  knees  on  the  seat, 
and  stared  at  the  choir.  He  twisted  back  again 
to  the  front,  and  was  only  saved  from  falling  to 
the  floor  by  the  alertness  of  his  pa.  The  floor 
being  thus  suggested  to  him,  he  got  down  on  it. 
Then  he  got  up  on  the  seat  again.  From  this 
place  he  desired  to  change  to  a  position  between 
his  pa  and  ma.  He  was  accommodated.  After 
resting  quietly  there  for  twenty  seconds,  he 
changed  to  the  other  side  of  his  pa.  Thence  he 
moved  to  his  pa's  lap.  From  there  he  went  to 
the  other  side  of  his  ma.  This  was  evidently  a 
mistake,  for  he  immediately  expressed  a  wish  to 
get  back  to  the  other  side  of  his  pa,  and  on 
their  attempting  to  lift  him  there  he  kicked  and 
cried,  and  was  only  silenced  by  being  allowed  to 
walk  the  distance,  which  he  did  at  once.  The 
motion  so  pleased  him  that  he  went  straightway 
back  again,  and  tried  it  over.  Also  for  the  second 
and  third  time.  Then  he  got  up  again  between 
his  ma  and  pa.  After  that,  to  the  other  side  of 
his  pa.  Then  he  espied  a  gilt-backed  book  in  the 
rack  of  the  next  pew,  and,  reaching  over  to  get  it, 
came  within  an  ace  of  depositing  his  entire  carcass 
on  the  other  side,  but  was  clutched  in  time  by 
both  of  his  parents,  and  hauled  safely  back,  very 
red  in  the  face  and  very  indignant.  Disappointed 
in  this  venture,  he  turned  his  attention  to  the  rack 
in   his   own   pew,  and   possessed  himself   of   the 


208  7 HE   SMALL   BOY. 

books  therein,  which,  being  taken  away  fro»n  him, 
made  it  necessary  that  he  should  get  them  again. 
These  he  dropped  on  the  floor  one  at  a  time,  and 
smiled  the  guileless  smile  of  infancy  as  they  were 
picked  up  by  his  embarrassed  parents.  Pretty  well 
exhausted,  he  now  prepared  for  sleep,  and  rested 
his  head  upon  his  mother's  breast  and  closed  his 
eyes.  His  parents  sighed.  Then  he  slipped 
down  on  the  floor,  sliding  in  such  a  way  as  to 
leave  quite  an  expanse  of  white  goods  between  his 
pants  and  jacket,  and  to  roll  the  collar  of  the 
jacket  up  on  the  back  of  his  head.  The  clothing 
was  adjusted,  his  ma  whispered  in  his  ear  for  the 
fortieth  time,  and  his  pa  scowled  so  hard  as  to 
nearly  dislodge  his  own  scalp.  He  saw  the  scowl, 
and  sullenly  sank  down  on  the  floor,  from  which 
he  had  to  be  lifted  by  main  force.  Then  he  took 
out  the  hymn-books  again,  and  was  going  to  drop 
them  as  before,  when  his  pa  interfered  and 
rescued  them.  He  resented  the  liberty  by  throw- 
ing back  his  head,  which,  coming  in  sharp  con- 
tact with  the  back  of  the  seat,  wrenched  from  his 
lips  a  shrill  cry.  The  unhappy  mother  endeav- 
ored to  stifle  in  her  shawl,  so  much  of  the  wail 
she  could  not  whisper  away,  while  his  pa's  face 
was  full  of  great  drops  of  perspiration,  of  which 
pa  himself  was  unconscious.  The  wail  not  abat- 
ing, pa's  knife,  containing  four  blades,  was  brought 
into  service,  and  then  the  cry  hushed.  For  a  full 
moment  he  was  absorbed  in  contemplation  of  this 
object.     And  then  he  let  it  drop.     There  was  no 


THE  SMALL  BOY.  209 

carpet  in  the  pew.  Two  thirds  of  the  congrega- 
tain  raised  from  their  seats,  and  Mr.  Pryden  him- 
self came  almost  to  a  perpendicular.  Then  the 
hymn  was  given  out  and  sung,  and  the  benedic- 
tion pronounced,  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Pryden,  with 
their  heir  between  them,  started  for  home,  Mr, 
Pryden  being  so  warm  that  he  took  off  his  over- 
coat, and  gave  a  boy  ten  cents  to  carry  it  home  for 
him. 


THE  MAN  NEXT  DOOR, 

AND  OTHER  ESSAYS. 


No.    I.— A  NEW    ENGLAND  THANKSGIVING. 

To-morrow  is  Thanksgiving  day,  and  as  I  sit 
by  my  window  looking  out  into  the  yard  of  The 
Man  Next  Door,  I  wonder  to  myself  how  he  will 
celebrate  the  day ;  and  my  mind  running  out  to 
him  from  the  contemplation  of  a  series  of  papers 
I  have  been  wanting  for  some  time  to  prepare  for 
you,  on  a  variety  of  topics  connected  with  life  in 
our  village,  it  is  suggested  to  me  that  a  good  name 
for  the  papers  will  be  the  name  by  which  he  is 
more  familiarly  known  in  our  household,  viz., 
"The  Man  Next  Door."  One  reason,  perhaps, 
for  this  designation  of  him  is  the  fact  that  he  is 
the  only  man  who  lives  next  door  to  us,  a  street 
being  on  the  other  side  of  us.  Again,  his  name 
is  so  awkward  that  it  does  not  come  easy  to  speak. 
So  he  has  come  to  be  known  principally  in  my 
family  as  The  Man  Next  Door.  And  a  very  good 
man  he  is,  too,  although  a  queer  man  in  some 
respects. 


THE  MAN  NEXT  DOOR,  2  I  I 

The  Man  Next  Door  has  a  store,  in  which  he 
sells  music,  books,  stationery,  jewelry,  watches, 
clocks,  etc.  He  is  a  sort  of  genius  whose  brain, 
like  his  place  of  business,  is  adapted  to  various 
ramifications.  He  is  a  large  man,  with  a  beard  on 
his  face,  but  none  on  the  top  of  his  head.  He  is 
more  nerve  than  fat,  large  as  he  is,  and  as  "touchy  " 
as  powder  itself,  and  as  quickly  over  it.  He  is  a 
reformer,  a  man  of  powerful  but  clouded  intellect, 
and  a  conceiver  of  vast  enterprises,  and  keeps  a 
retail  store  of  various  branches.  I  don't  know 
that  he  ever  thought  out  any  great  thing  to  a 
clear  conclusion,  but  he  has  thought  over  many  of 
them,  and  I  have  come  to  believe  that  the  little 
petty  details  of  his  business  and  domestic  life 
have  chafed  his  mighty  spirit  until  it  is  as  sore  as 
a  boil ;  and  this  is  what  makes  him  so  "touchy." 

Yesterday  afternoon  his  boy  brought  up  with 
the  horse  two  or  three  boxes,  and  dumped  them  in 
the  yard  by  the  barn.  I  have  just  been  looking 
from  my  window  at  these  boxes.  I  know  they  are 
to  be  used  in  building  something  to-morrow,  for 
The  Man  Next  Door  is  one  of  that  great  majority 
of  New-Englanders  who  devote  religious  days  to 
"puttering  about  the  place,"  as  my  wife  calls  it. 

Last  year  he  built  a  house  for  his  boy's  dog.  It 
was  a  clear,  cold  day,  as  is  proper  for  a  Thanks- 
giving day  to  be.  I  sat  indoors  and  watched  him 
at  his  work,  from  my  window. 

It  was  about  nine  a.  m.  when  he  began.  At  that 
hour  my  wife  directed  my  attention   to  the  fact 


212  THE  MAN  NEXT  DOOR, 

that  something  was  going  on  next  door,  and  I 
went  to  the  window.  The  man,  with  a  hammer  in 
his  hand,  was  there,  and  so,  also,  were  the  boy  and 
the  dog.  The  boy  is  about  fourteen  years  old, 
small  for  his  age,  with  a  face  so  white  as  to  lead 
the  casual  observer  to  infer  that  he  is  an  invalid. 
But  he  is  n't  Not  by  a  long  sight.  He  got  the 
dog  the  day  before.  The  animal  was  a  shaggy- 
haired  dog,  that  incessantly  wagged  its  tail,  and 
crouched  low  to  the  ground  when  spoken  to,  and 
turned  over  on  its  back  when  patted.  It  was  a 
very  propitiatory  dog. 

The  Man  Next  Door  was  in  the  best  of  spirits. 
He  patted  the  dog,  and  laughed,  and  his  whole 
expression  was  one  of  great  satisfaction.  He  had 
a  hammer,  and  a  saw,  and  a  saucer  of  nails.  It 
was  the  regular  family  collection  of  nails, — four 
straight  ones  and  forty  crooked  ones. 

He  had  plenty  of  material  for  the  building  of 
the  dog-house.  There  were  two  dry-goods  boxes, 
just  such  boxes  as  his  boy  brought  up  yesterday. 
He  knocked  them  apart,  and  was  careful  in  doing 
it  to  save  the  nails.  After  he  had  got  the  pieces 
thus  separated,  he  began  to  lay  out  the  plan  for 
the  house.  It  was  going  to  be  quite  an  elaborate 
affair,  judging  from  the  care  with  which  he  shut 
one  eye,  and  the  number  of  times  ha  stepped  back 
and  looked  at  the  idea.  Once,  v/hen  he  stepped 
back,  he  stepped  on  the  dog,  and  the  dog  yelped 
and  verged  so  suddenly  and  so  unexpectedly  that 
The  Man  Next  Door  lost  his  balance,  and  abruptly 


AND   OTHER  ESSAYS.  213 

sat  down  on  the  saucer  of  nails.  He  got  up  with- 
out smiling,  and  mechanically  looked  around  for 
the  dog,  with  the  hammer  still  in  his  hand.  The 
dog  had  continued  to  verge,  however,  and  was  now 
out  of  sight,  the  boy  being  in  sympathetic  pur- 
suit. Pretty  soon  The  Man  Next  Door  ceased 
to  rub  himself,  and  returned  to  the  work  of  con- 
struction. He  worked  vigorously.  He  drove  four 
stakes  into  the  earth,  and  built  up  four  walls  to 
them.  He  called  for  his  wife,  and  she  came  out 
ostensibly  to  hold  the  boards  as  he  nailed  them, 
but  really  to  tell  him  how  to  do  it.  He  knew  how 
to  do  it  himself,  however,  and  lost  no  time  in  con- 
vincing her  of  the  fact.  Still  she  did  n't  let  go  of 
her  idea.  She  held  two  boards  for  him,  and  was 
holding  the  third,  when  a  carriage  drove  by,  in 
which  was  a  woman  that  had  on  a  new  kind  of 
dolman.  The  wife  of  The  Man  Next  Door  was  so 
startled  by  this  appearance,  which  must  have  been 
entirely  unexpected  to  her,  that  she  dropped  the 
end  of  the  board  she  was  holding  to  run  out  to  the 
other  side  of  the  house,  where  a  much  better  view 
could  be  obtained.  It  was  an  unfortunate  time  to 
select  for  the  purpose.  He  had  a  nail  partly  set, 
and  was  about  to  give  it  a  climaxing  blow  —  in 
fact  the  hammer  was  already  descending  —  when 
she  dropped  her  end. 

I  was  n't  exactly  where  I  could  see  the  whole 
performance.  I  saw  the  hammer  go  down,  how- 
ever, and  then  I  saw  it  some  thirty  feet  in  the  air 
travelling    in   a  circle,  and  The  Man  Next  Door 


214  THE  MAN  NEXT  DOOR, 

was  bending  over  and  straightening  up  again,  and 
holding  on  to  one  hand  as  if  it  was  all  he  had  on 
earth. 

I  could  see  by  the  movement  of  her  eyes  that 
she  was  talking  to  him,  and  I  looked  at  his  lips  to 
see  if  they  were  moving  in  response,  but  they 
were  not.  They  were  tightly  clinched  ;  and  after 
he  had  kicked  down  what  he  had  built  up,  and 
jumped  up  and  down  on  the  saucer  of  nails  until 
he  had  driven  them  into  the  earth,  he  went  into 
the  house. 

Later  in  the  day  my  wife  saw  his  wife,  and 
asked  her  what  was  the  matter.  She  said  her 
husband  hit  his  thumb  with  the  hammer,  and  that 
he  ought  not  to  drive  nails  anyway,  because  he 
did  n't  understand  how  to  do  it. 


No.  2.  —  HOW  FAR  TWENTY  CENTS  WILL  GO. 

The  wife  of  The  Man  Next  Door  has  a  fertile 
brain,  which  is  kept  actively  employed  in  a  variety 
of  directions.  Among  her  household  gods  are  a 
dozen  plants  in  pots,  and  a  variety  of  these  in  a 
box  mounted  on  a  pedestal.  The  box  she  got  at 
the  store ;  the  pedestal  she  and  the  boy  together 
made.     After  it  was  done,  she  wanted  it  painted. 

She  might  have  sent  it  to  the  painter  for  that 
purpose,  but  he  would  charge  more  than  it  was 
worth.  To  save  the  extra  cost  she  determined  to 
do  the  work  herself.     She  could  get  a  pound  of 


AND   OTHER  ESSAYS.  2l5 

paint,  all  mixed  in  a  pot,  with  a  brush,  for  twenty 
cents,  —  the  pot  and  brush  to  be  returned  after 
the  work  was  done.  It  was  a  simple  thing  to 
paint,  and  she  could  put  it  on  as  easily  and  nicely 
as  a  trained  hand  could  do  it.  The  Man  Next 
Door  did  n't  think  much  about  it.  It  was  not  in 
his  line,  but  he  got  the  paint. 

The  paint  was  green,  and  when  the  box  and 
pedestal  took  that  color,  and  the  vines  got  to 
growing,  the  effect  was  going  to  be  real  nice. 
He  brought  up  the  pot  of  paint  on  coming  to 
dinner,  and  she  did  the  painting  in  the  afternoon. 
It  was  a  great  surprise  to  the  wife  of  The  Man 
Next  Door  to  see  how  little  of  the  paint  was  re- 
quired to  color  the  box  and  pedestal,  and  how 
much  was  left  after  the  work  was  done.  What 
should  she  do  with  it .-'  Not  return  it,  of  course, 
for  she  would  not  be  allowed  anything  for  it. 
Now  that  she  had  it  she  might  as  well  use  it. 
There  was  undoubtedly  something  it  could  be 
used  on. 

She  looked  around  for  the  object  in  question, 
and  was  not  long  in  finding  it.  There  are  more 
or  less  dingy,  battered  articles  about  a  house 
which  a  coat  of  paint  would  improve.  Her  house 
was  no  exception.  Her  eye  lighted  on  a  box 
holding  her  scouring-sand.  In  a  few  moments 
it  was  a  delightful  green. 

Then  she  looked  around  for  other  fields  to  con- 
quer, and  presently  found  them,  and  continued  to 
find  them  as  long  as  the  presence  of  paint  made 


2l6  .      THE  MAN  NEXT  DOOR, 

it  necessary  to  search  for  them.  She  was  nearly 
the  whole  afternoon  using  up  that  pot  of  paint, 
but  it  was  time  well  employed. 

And  it  was  amazing,  as  she  admitted  to  herself, 
how  far  twenty  cents'  worth  of  paint  would  go, 
judiciously  applied.  She  knew  her  husband  would 
be  surprised  when  he  came  home  at  night  at  all 
she  had  done. 

And  he  was. 

When  he  observed  the  green  clock-case,  and 
looked  at  the  green  paper-rack,  and  found  he  had 
a  green  writing-desk,  and  contemplated  the  green 
footstool,  and  saw  the  green  coal-scuttle,  and  got 
against  the  green  clothes-horse,  he  was  too  full 
to  say  a  word. 

Then  he  picked  up  his  green  bootjack,  and 
when  he  did  that  he  gave  a  wild,  scared  look 
about  the  room,  sank  down  in  a  chair,  and  found 
his  voice. 

He  said,  "  Holy  fish-hooks  !" 


No.  3.  — THE   GOOD   EFFECTS  OF    A  LITTLE 
COMMON-SENSE. 

The  other  day,  you  will  remember,  it  rained  in 
a  drizzling  sort  of  way  from  morning  until  night, 
and  froze  as  it  fell.  The  next  morning  every- 
thing, especially  back  stoops,  was  covered  with 
ice.  One  of  our  neighbors  went  out  early  into 
the  back  yard  with  a  pan  of  ashes  in  his  arms. 


AND   OTHER   ESSAYS.  21/ 

The  instant  he  stepped  from  the  door  upon  the 
stoop  that  foot  flew  out  from  under  him  in  a  flash, 
and  he  went  down  the  steps  with  the  same  foot 
sticking  straight  ahead  and  the  other  sticking 
straight  out  behind,  with  the  pan  still  in  his  arms. 
It  was  a  great  wonder  he  was  n't  killed ;  as  it  was, 
he  was  so  fearfully  wrenched  through  the  hips 
that  he  had  to  be  lifted  up  and  carried  into  the 
house,  being  almost  blinded,  too,  by  the  ashes. 
I  understand  that  nearly  one  hundred  persons 
went  off  their  stoops  in  a  similar  unpremeditated 
way  that  morning.  My  wife  had  no  sympathy  for 
these  people.  She  said  to  me,  on  hearing  of  our 
neighbor's  mishap,  — 

"  It  will  learn  him  to  use  his  head  after  this. 
There  was  no  need  at  all  of  his  falling  off  that 
stoop,  and  if  he  had  n't  been  so  stupid  it  would 
not  have  happened." 

"  It  was  a  stupid  performance,"  I  said,  dreamily. 

"  Of  course  it  was,"  she  went  on.  "  He  knew  it 
rained  all  day  yesterday,  and  he  knew  it  froze,  and 
he  knew  that  everything  was  a  glare  of  ice  last 
night,  and  so  it  must  be  this  morning.  And  he 
ought  to  have  had  on  rubbers  when  he  went  out 
there,  or  been  careful  where  he  stepped.  And  if 
he  had  done  that  he  would  n't  have  made  such  a 
spectacle  of  himself,  and  hurt  himself  so,  and  be 
laid  up,  perhaps,  for  several  days.  I  have  n't  my- 
self got  any  sympathy  for  him,  or  for  any  one  that 
ain't  got  any  more  sense  than  to  do  that." 

Upon  that  my  wife  went  back  to  the  kitchen  to 


2l8  THE  MAN  NEXT  DOOR, 

her  work,  and  I  fell  to  musing  upon  what  she  had 
said.  I  confess  there  was  some  wisdom  in  it. 
The  spectacle  of  a  hundred  people  in  a  New  Eng- 
land town  —  that  New  England  so  well  known 
for  its  hard,  sterling  sense  —  sliding  off  back 
stoops  with  pans  of  ashes  in  their  arms,  and 
screaming  and  swearing  in  their  rage,  is  not  a 
pleasant  one  to  contemplate,  especially  when,  as 
my  wife  says,  the  performance  could  be  avoided 
by  the  exercise  of  a  little  common-sense.  And 
yet  how  many  casualties  could  be  saved  by  this 
same  exercise !  It  is  not  only  by  stepping  from 
back  stoops,  but  in  a  hundred  matters  a  little 
wisdom  would  —     Great  heavens,  what  is  that  ! 

It  is  nearly  half  an  hour  since  this  writing  was 
interrupted  at  the  exclamation,  and  even  now  I 
cannot  understand,  I  can  scarcely  comprehend, 
what  has  happened. 

There  was  a  short,  sharp  scream  from  a  woman. 
It  came  from  the  rear  of  the  house.  I  went  into 
the  kitchen,  thence  to  the  back  door,  and,  —  well  ! 
You  would  not  believe  it,  but  there  at  the  foot  of 
the  stoop,  struggling  to  get  on  her  feet,  and  with 
an  overturned  pan  of  potato  parings  about  her, 
was  my  wife. 

I  stood  transfixed  by  the  sight,  with  all  the 
power  of  motion  gone  from  me,  and  while  I  stared 
at  her  she  reached  her  feet,  and  marched  deliber- 
ately up  the  steps,  and  by  me  into  the  house, 
with  the  lines  of  her  face  drawn  tight  and  hard. 
I  mechanically  followed. 


AND   OTHER  ESSAYS.  2ig 

*'  How  on  earth  came  you  down  there  ? "  I 
managed  to  ask. 

"How  do  you  suppose  I  came  there?"  she 
retorted. 

"  I  'm  sure  you  did  n't  fall  there,  because  you 
were  just  talking  about  that,  and  you  said  —  " 

"  For  heaven's  sake  stop  your  noise,"  she  an- 
grily cried.  "  You  are  enough  to  drive  a  saint 
mad  with  your  talk.  I  fell,  and  you  know  I  fell, 
and  if  you  had  any  gumption  about  you,  or  cared 
for  me  one  bit,  you  would  have  shovelled  the  ice 
from  that  stoop  an  hour  ago." 

And  then  she  darted  out  of  the  room,  shutting 
the  door  as  if  it  required  all  her  strength  to  do  it, 
and  I  came  back  to  this  writing,  and  am  trying  my 
best  to  reconcile  the  several  elements  of  the  situ- 
ation. 


No.   4.  — GOING   HOME  TO   REST. 

My  wife  said  yesterday  she  guessed  The  Man 
Next  Door  was  sick.  She  saw  him  come  back 
from  down  street  about  nine  o'clock.  He  was 
walking  slowly,  and  appeared  to  be  tired  and  worn 
out.  Knowing  him  to  be  of  a  very  nervous  tem- 
perament, and  that  he  had  some  severe  financial 
difficulties  to  contend  with  in  the  past  month,  I 
supposed  he  had  given  up  for  the  time  being. 
Shortly  before  the  dinner  hour  he  came  in,  and 
then  I  saw  he  was  not  feeling  well,  and  spoke  to 


220  .  THE  MAN  NEXT  DOOR, 

him  about  it.  He  said  he  was  only  tired  through 
want  of  sleep,  and  had  come  home  to  rest,  just  as 
I  supposed. 

After  he  said  this  he  laid  back  in  a  chair  and 
showed  no  disposition  to  talk  further.  I  busied 
myself  about  some  work  I  had  in  hand,  and  left 
him  to  his  ease.  It  was,  perhaps,  fifteen  minutes 
later  when  he  said,  — 

"  Would  you  be  kind  enough  to  step  this  way  a 
moment .''  I  think  that  is  my  wife  sitting  there," 
pointing  to  one  of  his  windows  opposite  ;  "  I  am 
not  positive.  I  would  n't  want  to  swear  to  it,  but 
it  looks  very  much  like  her." 

I  glanced  over  there.  It  was  she,  plainly 
enough.  He  sat  and  watched  her  for  some 
moments  in  silence.  Then  he  exclaimed,  as  if  he 
had  been  slowly  endeavoring  to  fathom  some  in- 
tricate maze,  — 

"It  is  most  extraordinary!  It  is  most  astound- 
ing!" 

"What  is  that.?  "  I  asked, 

"  I  cannot  understand  it  a  bit,"  he  continued, 
with  a  sigh.  "It  is  far  beyond  me.  Now  just 
think  of  it.  There  is  my  wife — you  can  see  her 
for  yourself — sitting  there  as  calm  and  self- 
possessed  as  a  baby  in  a  spittoon.  That  was  just 
the  way  she  was  sitting  when  I  came  home  this 
morning.  I  feel  all  played  out,  as  I  told  you.  My 
head  don't  ache,  but  it  feels  sort  of  numb,  as  if 
there  was  n't  any  life  to  it.  I  came  home  because 
I  was  sick  of  the  sight  of  the  store  and  everything 


AND  OTHER  ESSAYS.  221 

belonging  to  it,  and  wanted  rest.  I  did  n't  want 
to  see  anybody  ;  I  did  n't  want  to  talk  ;  I  did  n't 
want  to  be  interfered  with  ;  I  wanted  to  lay  off 
and  think  of  nothing  at  all.  My  wife  saw  what  I 
wanted,  and  although  I  came  home  for  no  purpose 
at  all,  she  prevailed  on  me  to  stay  and  rest  myself. 
Rest  was  what  I  wanted,  she  said,  and  nowhere 
could  I  get  it  so  well  as  at  home  ;  and  when  I 
looked  around,  and  saw  how  quiet  and  peaceful  it 
was,  I  knew  she  was  right.  Then  she  fixed  the 
easy-chair  for  me,  and  told  me  to  keep  perfectly 
quiet,  and  she  would  n't  let  any  company  m,  and 
I  'd  be  as  cosey  as  a  bug  in  a  rug. 

"  So  I  took  off  my  coat,  and  put  on  my  slippers, 
and  laid  back  in  my  chair,  and  shut  my  eyes,  and 
just  thought  of  nothing.  And,  I  tell  you,  it  was 
just  as  delicious  as  the  first  cucumber.  I  lay  there 
like  one  dead,  you  know.  I  did  n't  think  of  any- 
thing at  all  ;  I  did  n't  move,  I  did  n't  speak.  By 
gracious  !  I  can't  tell  when  I  've  had  such  a  per- 
fect sense  of  rest  as  I  did  then.  I  felt  as  if  I 
did  n't  care  if  all  creation  lit  out  from  sight  at 
once,  if  they  did  n't  disturb  me  in  the  going.  I 
laid  there  like  that  about  fifteen  minutes  or  so, 
when  I  thought  I  heard  some  one  moving.  I 
opened  my  eyes  to  see.  I  did  n't  snap  them  open, 
but  just  let  them  drift  apart,  for  I  felt  too  lazy  to 
take  any  interest  in  the  matter  anyway.  When  I 
got  them  open  enough,  I  saw  my  wife  standing 
among  the  flowers  in  the  bay-window,  looking  at 
them.     I  did  n't  see  anything  further  than  that. 


222  THE  MAN  NEXT  DOOR, 

and  hardly  that ;  and  then  I  kinder  drifted  off  into 
nothing  again.  I  was  glad  she  was  not  doing  any- 
thing, though,  because  I  was  so  tired  that  I  could 
not  bear  to  see  work  going  on.  It  would  have 
tired  me  to  have  thought  of  it  even.  By  and  by 
I  heard  her  walking  quick  like  across  the  room. 
I  swear,  it  made  me  shiver.  I  opened  my  eyes  ; 
she  was  going  into  the  kitchen  with  a  fiower-pot 
in  her  arms.     In  a  minute  she  was  back  again. 

"  '  What  are  you  doing } '  I  asked. 

" '  I  'm  only  taking  the  flowers  into  the  kitchen 
to  wash  them,'  says  she,  '  but  you  need  n't  mind 
it,'  says  she,  'because  it  won't  be  in  your  way, 
and  I  '11  be  through  in  a  few  minutes.' 

"  I  did  n't  say  any  more,  but  I  did  mind  it,  and 
I  could  n't  help  it.  I  could  n't  bear  to  see  any- 
body doing  anything ;  and  then  the  kitchen  door 
was  open,  and  that  made  a  draft  on  my  legs,  and 
I  could  n't  go  into  another  room  on  account  of 
the  fire. 

"  *  I  'm  sorry  you  're  doing  it,'  says  I. 

"'Why,  what's  the  harm.?'  says  she.  'You 
don't  have  to  do  anything,  you  know,'  says  she. 

"  This  was  calculated  to  assure  me,  but  it 
did  n't.  But  I  tried  not  to  complain,  and  got  as 
far  out  of  the  draft  as  I  could,  and  close  up  to  the 
stove.     But  it  broke  me  up  for  a  few  minutes. 

"  I  'd  got  partly  quieted  down,  when  I  heard  her 
say, — 

"'Oh,  dear!' 

"  I  looked    up    before    I    thought,  and  saw  her 


AND   OTHER  ESSAYS.  223 

trying  to  take  down  a  pot  from  the  bracket,  where 
it  was  too  high  for  her  to  reach.  She  looked  over 
to  me,  and  kind  of  shamed  like,  said,  says  she,  — 

"■  'I  wish  you  would  reach  that  for  me.  I  know 
you  are  tired,'  says  she,  'but  I  can't  get  it,  and  if 
you  '11  only  reach  it,'  says  she,  '  I  won't  bother 
you  again,'  says  she. 

"  I  did  n't  want  to  get  up,  for  I  hated  awfully  to 
move,  but  I  did  n't  see  any  help  for  it.  I  thought 
it  would  n't  do  to  say  nothing,  for  then  she  would 
think  it  was  making  no  sacrifice,  so  I  said  it  was 
too  bad  a  man  could  n't  come  home  and  rest  with- 
out the  whole  place  being  turned  topsyturvy 
about  his  ears,  and  be  dragged  off  to  do  this  and 
that  when  he  did  n't  feel  able  to  move. 

"What  on  earth  induced  her  to  go  to  work  at 
those  plants  just  then  is  one  of  those  mysteries 
that  I  cannot  explain,  and  I  swear  I  don't  believe 
she  can.  That  pot  I  got  down  was  the  beginning 
of  the  evil.  She  wanted  to  know,  as  long  as  I 
was  up,  if  I  would  n't  lift  a  big  geranium  in  the 
kitchen,  as  it  was  too  much  for  her.  No  sooner 
had  I  done  that  than  there  were  two  more  pots 
for  me  to  lift,  and  when  I  had  carried  them  out, 
there  was  another  to  take  down  from  the  bracket ; 
and  in  less  than  five  minutes  she  had  me  carrying 
unwashed  pots  into  the  kitchen,  and  wet  pots  and 
dripping  plants  back  into  the  room.  Then  she 
asked  me  to  lift  them  into  their  places,  and  wanted 
to  know  if  I  would  n't  tack  the  ivy  in  the  arch, 
and  go  down  cellar  after  a  board    for  a  bench. 


224  THE  MAN  NEXT  DOOR, 

And  there  was  the  table  and  chair  full  of  wet  pots, 
and  the  floor  littered  with  dead  leaves  and  twigs, 
with  the  air  full  of  damp  and  draughts.  And  she 
had  her  sleeves  rolled  up,  an  old  dress  on,  and 
the  whole  front  was  wet  with  the  water  that  had 
splashed  on,  and  begrimed  with  the  dirt  from 
the  pots.  Such  a  wretched,  dismal,  distressing 
state  of  things  no  man  ever  looked  on,  and  I  had 
come  home  so  tired  and  exhausted  I  did  n't  care 
to  live  another  minute !  I  had  come  home  to  find 
peace,  quiet,  and  rest  !  I,  her  own  husband  !  And 
there  she  sits,  as  serene  and  composed  as  an  angel 
in  Paradise.  By  heaven,"  he  cried,  "it  is  most 
extraordinary." 

Then  after  a  moment  he  impressively  added,  — 
"  If  you  are  ever  tired  and  worn  out,  and  feel 
as  if  you  must  have  rest  and  quiet  or  die,  don't 
go  home.  Go  to  some  political  caucus,  or  a  boiler 
factory  where  they  are  working  over-time,  or  sit 
down  under  a  railroad  bridge  where  extra  trains 
are  being  run.  But  don't  go  home.  God  bless 
you.     Good  day." 

And  he  went  back  to  his  store. 


No.  5.— THE  FASCINATION  OF  AN  ILL  WIND. 

One  of  the  precious  enjoyments  of  this  life  is 
startling  people.  Bad  news  travels  fast,  because 
everybody  helps  it  along.  Sidney  Smith  says 
that  next  to  the  pleasure  of  telling  evil  news  is 


AND   OTHER  ESSAYS.  225 

hearing  it.  Again,  there  is  no  disappointment 
keener  than  that  of  being  cheated  out  of  a  morsel 
of  shocking  news,  — to  have  it  snatched  from  your 
possession  just  as  you  are  getting  ready  to  roll  it 
under  your  tongue.  Some  people  think  a  paper 
does  n't  amount  to  anything  if  it  does  not  contain 
an  announcement  of  the  death  of  an  acquaintance. 
And  when  we  are  suitably  shocked  by  a  dreadful 
happening  to  a  neighbor,  to  learn  that  the  story  is 
untrue,  —  well,  it  is  very  gratifying,  without  doubt. 

The  story  they  tell  of  Coleridge,  aptly  illus- 
trates the  general  weakness.  He  was  busy  with 
his  writing  at  a  late  hour  in  the  night,  when  the 
cry  of  fire  startled  him.  Opening  the  window  he 
hallooed  to  a  passer-by  to  learn  where  the  fire 
was,  and  was  told  that  it  was  a  shoemaker's  shop, 
and  that  the  shoemaker's  family  were  burned  up. 
Inexpressibly  shocked  by  the  news,  and  full  of 
sympathy  for  the  unfortunate  man,  he  put  on  his 
coat  and  ran  with  all  his  speed  to  the  scene  of  the 
horror.  When  he  got  there,  and  saw  the  shoe- 
maker's family,  unharmed,  sitting  on  their  goods 
in  the  street,  and  learned  the  story  was  false,  he 
impulsively  said,  "  D — n  the  fire  !  "  and  went  back 
home. 

There  is  an  ecstasy  of  delight  in  imparting  start- 
ling news  of  an  evil  nature.  We  try  to  conceal  it ; 
we  make  herculean  efforts  to  carry  the  treasure 
about  and  distribute  it  calmly  and  dispassionately, 
but  we  fail.  If  it  is  very  bad  news,  and  concerns 
some   neighbor,    we   are   very  much    shocked,  of 


226  THE  MAN  NEXT  DOOR, 

course.  Still  we  are  kind  of  grateful  to  heaven 
for  being  permitted  to  be  the  first  to  tell  the 
wretched  affair. 

I  started  out  to  speak  of  Mr.  Henderson.  It 
was  a  shocking  accident.  His  horse  ran  away 
with  him,  and  he  was  thrown  to  the  ground  and 
instantly  killed.  This  occurred  in  the  morning. 
Mr.  A,  who  is  an  irrepressible  man,  heard  the 
news  almost  as  soon  as  it  occurred,  and  started 
off  up  the  street,  all  in  a  tremble,  to  tell  it. 

The  first  man  he  met  was  B.  He  said,  making 
a  tremendous  effort  to  keep  calm,  — 

"Good  morning,  Mr.  B." 

"Good  morning,"  said  Mr.  B. 

"  You  know  Henderson,  don't  you  ?  " 

"  What,  the  grocer  }  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Yes,  I  know  him  well." 

"  He  was  thrown  out  of  his  wagon  a  few  minutes 
ago,  and  killed." 

"  What,  killed  >  " 

"Yes.     Head  all  smashed  in." 

"  Why,  that  is  horrible  !  " 

"Yes,  indeed,  it  is  dreadful." 

Mr.  B  would  ask  more  particulars,  but  while  he 
is  recovering  from  the  excitement  the  intelligence 
throws  him  into,  Mr.  A  hurries  on  his  disastrous 
way. 

In  a  few  yards  he  meets  C. 

"Good  morning,  Mr.  C." 

"Good  morning,  Mr.  A." 


AXD   OTHER   ESSAYS.  22/ 

"  You  know  Henderson,  don't  you  ? " 

"  The  grocer,  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Guess  I  do  know  him.     What  of  it  ?  " 

"  He  was  thrown  out  of  his  wagon  a  little  while 
ago,  and  was  killed." 

"  Great  heavens  !  you  don't  mean  it  t  "  gasps  C. 

"  It  's  so.  Head  was  all  smashed  in,"  adds  Mr. 
A,  as  composedly  as  if  smashed  heads  were  the 
commonest  of  occurrences.  And  then  he  hurries 
on.  Mrs.  D  was  coming  out  of  the  market  with 
a  parcel  of  meat  as  he  was  passing.  He  hailed 
her  at  once. 

"Good  morning,  Mrs.  D." 

"Good  morning,  Mr.  A." 

"You  know  Henderson,  the  grocer,  don't  you.-"" 

"  Indeed  I  do.  Many  is  the  dollar's  worth  I  've 
traded  with  him.     Yes,  I  know  Mr.   Henderson." 

"  He  was  thrown  out  of  his  wagon  only  a  few 
minutes  ago,  and  was  killed,"  said  Mr.  A,  watch- 
ing her  face  for  the  effect,  and  feeling  his  heart 
thrill  at  the  look  of  horror  that  overspread  it. 

"  Mercy  on  us,     Killed,  do  you  say  .-'  " 

"Yes,  killed  at  once.     Head  all  stove  in," 

"Why,  this  is  horrible.  I  must  hurry  home  and 
tell  the  folks!  "  she  exclaimed. 

As  Mrs.  D  lives  in  Mr.  A's  neighborhood,  this 
announcement  alarms  him.  It  won't  do  to  have 
her  get  ahead  of  him  with  the  dreadful  intelli- 
gence. He  quickens  his  pace  to  almost  a  trot. 
Full  of  eager  expectation,  he  hurries  on.     Shortly 


228  THE  MAN  NEXT  DOOR, 

he  overtakes  Mr.  E.  He  comes  up  to  him  rather 
short  of  breath. 

"  Good  morning,  Mr.  E," 

"Good  mornin',''  responds  E. 

"You  know  Henderson.''" 

"Yes,  I  knowed  him  well." 

Mr.  A  looks  sideways  at  Mr.  E's  face  for  the 
result,  and  says,  — 

"  He  was  throwed  out  of  his  wagon  just  now, 
and  killed." 

"Yes,  I  heard  so,"  gently  says  Mr.  E.  "  It  was 
an  awful  affair." 

Mr.  A  is  so  shocked  by  this  anticipation  of  his 
news  that  he  fails  to  confirm  Mr.  E's  opinion,  and 
hurries  on,  somewhat  sobered. 

Presently  he  saw  Mr.  F  coming  out  of  his  door. 
His  spirits  raised  again,  and  he  hastened  ahead, 
diving  into  Mr.  F's  yard,  and  reaching  the  stoop 
as  that  gentleman  was  leaving  it.  Mr.  F  is  a  very 
stolid  man,  with  mind  principally  upon  his  busi- 
ness interests. 

"Good  morning,  Mr.  F,"  cried  Mr.  A,  nearly 
out  of  breath. 

"Mornin',"  responded  F. 

"You  know  Mr.  Henderson.?"  interrogates  A, 
with  the  air  of  a  man  who  is  approaching  a  sweep- 
ing victory. 

"  What  Henderson  .?" 

Mr.  A's  heart  felt  as  if  some  one  had  stepped 
on  it. 

"  Why,  —  why,  the  grocer,  you  know." 


AND   OTHER  ESSAYS.  229 

"Don't  know  him.     What  of  it  ?" 

"He's  —  he's  dead,"  gasped  A,  feeling  some 
way  or  other  very  small  and  uncomfortable. 

"  Relative  of  yours  .-* " 

"No,  oh,  no!"  answered  A,  wishing  that  he 
was  well  out  the  yard. 

"  Anything  else  you  want  to  say  to  me  .-'" 

Mr.  A  did  want  to  tell  him  that  Mr.  Henderson 
had  his  head  smashed  in;  but  the  fact  had  now 
grown  so  insignificant  that  he  did  n't  have  the 
heart  to  mention  it,  and  was  only  too  glad  to  con- 
fess that  there  was  nothing  more,  and  make  his 
escape. 


No.  6.— THE  THEOLOGY  OF  A  SHIRT-BUTTON. 

Deacon  Stoughton  is  one  of  my  neighbors. 
The  deacon  is  a  magnificent  specimen  of  what  a 
great  many  people  believe  a  deacon  should  be. 
He  is  straight  and  stiff  and  thin.  Come  to  think 
it  over,  I  don't  believe  I  ever  saw  a  real  fat, 
chunky  deacon,  although  I  believe  they  are  pick- 
ing up  in  this  particular  throughout  the  country, 
and  that  there  is  a  growing  belief  that  more  meat 
on  their  bones  would  not  seriously  interfere  with 
their  filling  the  ofiice.  Deacon  Stoughton  is  thin, 
and  built  just  right  for  visiting  people  in  an  offi- 
cial capacity,  as  his  body,  you  can  see  at  a  glance, 
would  be  perfectly  at  home  in  a  straight-backed, 
weak-lesfged  chair.     The  deacon  has  no  color  in 


230  THE  MAN  NEXT  DOOR, 

his  face.  Color  is  too  suggestive  of  good  living 
and  good  digestion,  neither  of  which  would  become 
a  deacon.  The  deacon's  clothes  are  as  void  of  lev- 
ity as  his  face  and  form,  and  must  be  a  great  com- 
fort to  him.  They  are  black,  so  far  as  the  outer 
garments  are  concerned,  and  as  austere  as  a 
hearse.  His  linen  is  as  white  as  his  coat  is  black. 
It  is  of  his  linen  that  I  now  wish  to  speak  partic- 
ularly. 

Last  Sunday  morning  the  deacon  changed  his 
shirt,  as  is  his  custom.  On  buttoning  it  at  the 
back  (for  he  has  made  a  concession  in  favor  of 
the  open-backed  article)  he  discovered  that  the 
button  was  off.  There  was  no  other  shirt  avail- 
able at  the  time,  and  the  deacon  was  in  a  fix. 

When  his  wife  learned  the  trouble,  she  briskly 
said  that  she  would  sew  on  a  button  at  once. 
This  announcement  nearly  threw  the  deacon  into 
a  fit.  As  it  was,  he  was  petrified  with  horror.  It 
was  Sunday,  the  day  set  apart  for  rest  and  medi- 
tation, wherein  should  be  performed  no  worldly 
labor,  and  here  was  a  woman,  the  wife  of  a  dea- 
con, unblushingly  proposing  to  get  out  her  work- 
basket  and  other  carnal  matters,  and  sew  on  that 
button.  It  seemed  incredible.  He  wanted  to 
believe  it  was  but  the  offshoot  of  a  disordered 
fancy,  which  would  dissolve  into  space  when  he 
awoke.  But  it  was  an  actual  fact,  distasteful  as 
it  was  to  admit  it,  and  the  deacon  was  forced  to 
believe  that  his  wife  had  really  proposed  the 
sacrilege. 


AND   OTHER  ESSAYS  ^3^ 

Aside  from  the  offence  of  the  act,  it  was  morti- 
fying to  the  deacon's  pride  that  his  wife,  who  had 
enjoyed  so  many  years  of  his  edifying  example, 
had  profited  so  little  by  it.  It  was  painfully  evi- 
dent that  there  was  a  very  large  screw  loose  some- 
where in  the  moral  fabric  he  had  been  rearing. 

When  he  got  his  breath,  and  had  in  a  measure 
regained  his  ordinary  composure,  he  declined  the 
shirt-button,  and  rebuked  her  who  had  suggested 
it.  There  was  plenty  of  time  in  the  six  days  of 
the  week  to  sew  on  buttons  without  desecrating 
the  seventh  with  that  service.  He  hoped  he 
knew  his  duty,  and  as  long  as  he  retained  his 
reason  he  would  never  be  guilty  of  such  a  sin. 

A  highly  respectable  pin  was  made  to  hold  the 
shirt  together  and  the  collar  in  its  place,  and  the 
deacon  went  to  church,  very  much  pleased  with 
his  own  righteousness,  however  he  may  have  felt 
in  regard  to  his  wife's.  At  any  rate,  his  firmness 
in  the  right  must  have  a  salutary  effect  upon  her, 
acting  somewhat  in  the  nature  of  a  moral  astrin- 
gent upon  her  loose  idea  of  rectitude. 

But  a  pin  is  not  always  a  good  substitute  for  a 
button,  however  useful  it  may  be  in  other  ways, 
or  however  good  may  have  been  its  intentions  in 
this.  The  deacon's  pin  was  moral,  but  restless. 
This  last  quality  began  to  manifest  itself  seriously 
before  the  sermon  had  fairly  started.  The  point 
got  into  his  flesh  and  smarted.  Not  severely,  to 
be  sure,  but  in  a  small  manner  that  was  exceed- 
ingly annoying,  and  sufficient  in  itself  to  draw  his 


232  THE  MAN  NEXT  DOOR, 

attention  from  the  discourse,  despite  his  desper- 
ate endeavors  to  keep  his  mind  upon  it. 

A  pin  is  a  very  trifling  affair,  to  be  sure,  but 
it  succeeded  in  completely  filling  the  deacon's 
thoughts  before  the  sermon  was  done,  and  the 
various  things  he  thought  of  in  regard  to  that  pin 
would  have  astonished  and  pained  him  beyond 
measure  had  he  seen  them  mirrored  in  another's 
mind. 

After  the  service  several  sought  to  engage  him 
in  pleasant  and  edifying  converse  on  church  work, 
but  the  pin  had  the  upper  hand,  and  the  answers 
of  the  deacon  were  so  unusual,  and  his  lack  of 
sympathy  was  so  manifest,  that  the  brethren  aban- 
doned their  efforts,  and  retired  with  grave  fore- 
bodings. 

In  the  Sunday  school,  where  he  serves  as  super- 
intendent, nothing  went  smoothly  that  noon.  He 
thought  his  officials  were  never  so  stupid,  the 
teachers  never  so  negligent,  the  scholars  never  so 
noisy  and  ungodly  generally,  as  they  were  then, 
and  he  had  to  speak  in  severe  rebuke  to  a  number 
of  them. 

But  it  was  not  the  deacon  who  was  doing  this. 
It  was  that  pin,  that  highly  respectable  pin.  When 
he  was  asked  by  the  collector  what  amount  he  was 
going  to  give  this  year  for  foreign  missions,  the 
pin  spoke  up  at  once,  and  said  it  guessed  enough 
had  been  done  for  the  heathen  already,  and  that 
it  was  about  time  they  looked  after  themselves. 
The  collector,  who  did  not  see  the  pin,  thought 


AND  OTHER  ESSAYS.  233 

it  was  the  deacon  who  spoke,  and  went  away  half 
stunned. 

It  was  the  pin  that  answered  a  call  to  visit  a  sick 
neighbor  with  the  remark  that  he  had  something 
else  to  do.  It  was  the  pin  that  forbade  books 
being  given  out  to  the  school  that  day,  because 
the  children  were  unruly,  and  should  be  punished. 
It  was  the  pin  that  caused  him  to  meet  pleasant 
salutations  with  such  stiffness  as  to  disperse  the 
sunshine  from  the  faces  he  met.  It  was  the  pin 
that  made  him  stalk  home  in  advance  of  his  wife, 
and  leave  her  to  get  there  alone.  And  it  was  the 
pin  that  showed  him  how  cold  was  his  dining-room, 
how  late  was  his  dinner,  how  unfeeling  and  irrev. 
erent  were  his  children,  how  much  that  was  dis- 
satisfying and  uncomfortable  and  annoying  all 
about  him. 

Despite  its  pretensions,  that  pin  was  almost  as 
wicked  as  a  button  would  have  been  in  its  place, 
and  the  deacon  was  glad  indeed  when  Monday 
came,  and  the  button  could  return  without  sin. 


No.  7.  — MR.   FERGUSON'S   GRAVEYARD. 

An  old  gentleman  named  Hutchings,  who  lives 
in  Hudson,  N.  Y.,  was  at  my  house  the  other  even- 
ing. He  was  full  of  reminiscences  of  the  past 
of  our  village,  and  told  many  interesting  stories. 
One  of  them  I  have  thought  best  to  preserve  in 
this  column,  as  a  picture  of  a  phase  of  human 


234  THE  MAN  NEXT  DOOR, 

weakness  that  is  not,  I  am  thankful  to  say,  com- 
mon. 

The  time  of  the  incident  was  the  building  of 
our  railroad,  some  twenty  years  ago.  A  man 
named  Ferguson  lived  then  in  Perkinsto\v;i,  on 
the  route.  He  was  a  farmer,  and  owned  a  piece 
of  land  in  a  ravine  through  which  the  road  was 
to  run.  This  piece  was  so  situated  that  the  com- 
pany could  not  avoid  crossing  it  with  their  line, 
unless  making  a  turn  at  a  very  great  expense. 
There  was  scarcely  a  half-acre  in  the  piece,  and 
it  was  a  mass  of  rocks.  It  might  have  been 
worth  to  the  company  about  forty  dollars.  If  any 
one  else  had  offered  twentv-five  dollars  for  it,  the 
Perkinstowners  would  have  thought  that  he  was 
going  to  put  up  an  asylum  for  the  insane,  and 
stock  it  himself. 

The  commissioner  who  was  instructed  to  deal 
with  Mr.  Ferguson  made  him  the  liberal  offer  of 
fifty  dollars  for  the  land.  Mr.  Ferguson  declined 
it.  He  had  his  own  ideas  of  the  matter.  Rail- 
roads were  not  common.  They  did  not  even 
come  once  a  year,  and  it  was  very  reasonable  to 
believe  that  another  would  not  take  in  Perkins- 
town  during  Mr.  Ferguson's  lifetime.  It  was 
his  idea  to  make  the  most  of  this  one. 

Mr,  Ferguson  said  he  would  see  the  commis- 
sioner the  next  day.  He  wanted  to  sleep  on  the 
matter  over  night.  But  he  did  n't  sleep  much 
that  night.  Mrs.  Ferguson  was  dead.  She  had 
been  dead  a  couple  of  years  or  thereabouts.     She 


AND   OTHER  ESSAYS.  235 

had  been  a  sickly  woman  for  the  last  years  of  her 
life,  and  not  exactly  a  helpmeet  to  Mr.  Ferguson, 
who  had  been  obliged  to  hire  a  woman  to  do  the 
work  that  would  have  otherwise  been  done  by  the 
late  lamented.  Mr.  Ferguson  fell  to  thinking  of 
that  while  brooding  over  the  railroad  matter,  and 
looking  out  of  his  kitchen  window  upon  the  clump 
of  peach-trees  beneath  which  reposed  his  dead 
wife. 

The  result  of  his  ruminations  was  that  "  Martha 
would  'a'  done  better  if  she  'd  had  the  chance ; 
but  she  was  n't  able."  He  believed  that  an 
opportunity  for  her  to  be  useful  had  now  arrived, 
and  knowing  well  her  willing  disposition,  he  felt 
it  would  be  a  downright  favor  to  her  to  put  her 
in  the  way  of  using  the  chance. 

That  night,  with  the  aid  of  his  hired  man,  he 
dug  her  up  and  transplanted  her  on  the  rocky  bit 
of  land  in  the  ravine.  Then  he  was  ready  for 
the  commissioner  when  that  individual  appeared. 

He  told  the  commissioner  that  he  had  been 
thinking  of  the  matter  very  carefully,  weighed  all 
the  phases  of  it,  and  he  had  come  to  the  conclu- 
sion that  he  could  not  give  up  that  piece  of  land 
for  less  than  a  thousand  dollars.  The  shock  was 
so  great  to  the  commissioner  that  he  fell  over  in 
his  chair,  and  the  place  where  his  head  struck  the 
door  jamb  was  shown  for  years  after.  When  he 
got  his  feet  and  his  breath,  he  told  Mr.  Ferguson 
that  the  demand  was  preposterous,  that  the  com- 
pany would  not  entertain  it  for  an  instant,  that 


236  THE  MAN  NEXT  DOOR, 

fifty  dollars  was  a  tremendous  price  for  the 
piece. 

"I  admit,"  said  Mr.  Ferguson,  gently,  "that 
fifty  dollars  is  a  good  price  for  an  ordinary  piece 
of  land  like  that,  but  this  is  a  far  different  case. 
That  is  a  private  graveyard,  and  that  makes  a 
great  difference." 

"  A  graveyard  !  What 's  buried  there  .■*  "  bluntly 
inquired  the  incredulous  commissioner. 

"My  wife,  sir,"  gravely  answered  Mr.  Ferguson, 
"my  late  lamented  and  dearly  beloved  wife  lies 
resting  there."  And  Mr.  Ferguson  wiped  from  his 
eyes  a  moisture  that  did  credit  to  his  heart.  "  My 
long-suffering  wife's  remains  repose  in  that  spot." 

"  Why,  I  did  not  know  that,"  said  the  somewhat 
bewildered  railroad  man. 

"  It  is  a  fact,  sir.  I  laid  her  in  that  retired  spot 
because  she  loved  it  so  much.  Her  last  words  to 
me  were,  *  Husband,  bury  me  there  ! '  I  did.  Her 
wish  was  sacred  to  me.  That  spot  is  sacred  to 
me.  The  railroad  cannot  run  over  her  poor  body. 
I  should  have  to  move  her  if  the  company  take 
the  land.  It  is  not  a  pleasant  matter  to  disturb 
the  dead.  You  are  a  husband  yourself,  perhaps. 
You  can  understand  this,  sir." 

The  commissioner  said  he  was  not  prepared  to 
deal  with  the  question  in  this  new  light,  and  would 
have  to  consult  the  company ;  with  that  he  retired. 

Before  negotiations  were  renewed  the  affair 
came  to  the  knowledge  of  the  neighbors,  and  they 
started  up  such  an  uproar  about  Mr.  Ferguson's 


AND   OTHER   ESSAYS.  23/ 

ears,  vhat  that  bereaved  man  took  up  his  wife,  and 
put  her  back  under  the  peach-trees  without  charg- 
ing the  railroad  company  a  cent. 

And  yet  when  they  came  to  settle  for  the  land, 
that  ungrateful  company  would  not  allow  him  but 
thirty  dollars  for  it,  and  he  had  to  take  it. 

Truly,  corporations  have  no  souls. 


No.  8.  — THE   VALUE   OF   STYLE. 

It  is  a  little  singular  that  however  many  styles 
of  hats  a  man  may  buy,  any  one  of  them  will  do 
on  a  pinch.  It  is  different  with  the  other  sex.  A 
hat  must  be  in  the  style,  and  the  style  must  be 
clearly  defined,  or  the  hat  itself  cannot  be  worn. 
This  matter  has  come  to  me  in  a  vague  form  for 
several  years,  but  on  Saturday  night  it  was  brought 
very  vividly  to  my  notice.  Miss  Houniker,  of  our 
street,  is  a  vivacious  young  lady  and  a  friendly 
neighbor.  She  came  in  to  see  my  wife  last  Satur- 
day  night  I  was  in  the  next  room,  grating  horse- 
radish. I  overheard  a  conversation  between  the 
two  which  opened  my  eyes  considerably,  and  fur- 
nished me  with  an  explanation  of  some  things  I 
had  not  before  understood. 

The  Sunday  before  I  was  surprised  to  hear  my 
wife  say  she  was  not  going  to  church.  Pressing 
her  for  an  explanation,  I  learned  that  her  hat  was 
out  of  style. 

"  But  I  thought,"  I  said,  "  that  you  got  a  hat 
but  a  few  weeks  ago." 


238  THE  MAN  NEXT  DOOR, 

She  admitted  this,  but  that  was  a  fall  hat.  This 
set  me  to  thinking,  but  not  in  a  definite  way.  I 
said,  rather  bewildered,  "  What  does  that  matter .'' 
You  wore  it  last  Sunday." 

"  I  know  I  did,"  she  answered. 

"Well,  then,"  I  added,  still  in  the  dark,  and 
getting  further  into  the  mire,  "  what  is  to  hinder 
your  wearing  it  to-day  .''  " 

"Because  it  ain't  in  the  style,"  she  answered. 

"  But,  great  heavens  !  "  I  answered,  "  if  one  week 
ago  it  was  all  right,  what  is  to  hinder  it  from  being 
all  right  to-day  ?  " 

Then  she  burst  into  tears,  and  I  dropped  the 
matter. 

The  conversation  between  her  and  Miss  Houn- 
iker,  Saturday  night,  was  in  regard  to  attending  a 
sociable  on  the  Wednesday  evening  of  this  week. 
My  wife  did  not  know  certainly  whether  she  could 
go.  Miss  Houniker  was  sure  she  could  not  go. 
The  reason,  mainly,  that  led  Miss  Houniker  to 
this  conclusion  was  that  while  her  silk  was  a 
brown  —  the  silk  she  designed  to  wear  —  her  hat 
was  gray.  My  wife  could  not  go,  also.  Her  hat 
was  an  autumn  hat,  full  as  warm  to  the  head  as 
could  be  a  winter  hat.  But  it  was  an  autumn 
hat,  and  she  felt  that  it  was  not  right  for  a  Chris- 
tian, one  who  belonged  to  the  church,  and  tried 
to  be  regular,  to  wear  a  liat  in  the  winter  that 
was  especially  designed  for  the  fall.  She  didn't 
think  the  angels  in  heaven  would  approve  of 
that. 


AND   OTHER  ESSAYS  239 

She  did  not  say  so,  of  course,  but  I  knew  that 
must  be  the  feeling  by  the  way  she  spoke. 
I  am  sorry  for  the  angels  in  heaven. 


No.  9.  — AN   UNEXPECTED    ARGUMENT. 

The  Man  Next  Door  and  his  wife  were  in  to  see 
us  last  evening.  He  came  in  to  show  me  some 
chilblains  he  had  on  his  heel.  She  came  in  to 
bear  him  company,  I  presume. 

While  he  and  I  were  engaged  in  discussing  his 
heel,  she  and  my  wife  fell  into  a  conversation  on 
the  subject  of  servants.  When  the  chilblains  light- 
ened up  somewhat  in  its  pressure  on  my  attention, 
I  was  enabled  to  learn  that  she  was  deploring  the 
general  inefficiency  of  servants.  One  of  her  origi- 
nal remarks  was  to  the  effect  that  it  was  more  of 
a  task  to  look  after  a  girl  than  it  was  to  do  the 
work  herself.  In  a  spirit  of  self-sacrifice  which 
cannot  be  too  greatly  regretted,  she  persisted  in 
keeping  the  girl. 

The  Man  Next  Door  has  one  child,  a  boy. 
This  makes  a  family  of  three.  She  has  a  girl  to 
help  her  do  the  work,  and,  as  I  gleaned  from  her 
remarks,  even  then  had  difficulty  in  getting 
through  on  time,  and  was  all  fagged  out  when 
night  came.  Her  husband  caught  upon  her  sub- 
ject after  a  while,  and  drifted  into  it.  Presently 
he  said,  speaking  more  particularly  to  me,  — 

"  Blamed  if  I  understand  this  business.     Here 


240  THE  MAN  NEXT  DOOR, 

a  couple  get  married,  and  go  to  keeping  house. 
After  they  've  got  a  child  the  woman  must  have 
a  girl.  She  can't  go  along  after  that  without 
help.  She  must  have  a  girl,  even  if  she  goes 
without  something  else.  I  don't  understand  it 
at  all,  unless  the  sex  have  mightily  changed  in 
the  past  thirty  years,  and  have  grown  considerably 
weaker.  Thirty  years  ago  you  didn't  hear  of 
such  things.  There  were  eight  of  us  in  our  fam- 
ily, and  mother  did  all  the  work  for  the  entire  lot, 
and  did  n't  seem  to  be  put  out  much  by  it  either. 
And  then  I  remember  the  families  in  our  neigh- 
borhood, when  I  was  a  boy,  a  number  of  them 
that  had  several  children  apiece,  and  the  women 
did  the  work.  They  may  have  had  the  washing 
done,  something  like  that,  but  the  work  itself 
they  tended  to  themselves.  But  nowadays,  as 
soon  as  a  child  has  come,  then  the  work  must 
be  done  by  a  girl.  Women  ain't  what  they  were 
thirty  years  ago,  by  a  long  shot." 

*'  What  if  there  were  eight  of  your  family,  they 
were  n't  all  little  children,  were  they  .'*  "  put  in  his 
wife. 

"No,  but  three  or  four  of  them  were  small." 

I  was  wondering  what  his  wife  would  say  to 
this,  and  was  confident  it  would  be  some  sort  of 
feminine  logic  which  did  n't  apply  to  the  case. 

"  A  man  knows  a  great  deal  about  a  woman's 
work,"  she  said.  I  laughed  inwardly.  "  A  wo- 
man," she  continued,  "  did  n't  have  half  so  much 
to  attend  to  thirty  years  ago  that  she  has  now." 


AND  OTHER  ESSAYS.  24 1 

"  Did  n't,  hey  ?  What  's  the  reason,  I  'd  like  to 
know.  Ain't  a  family  of  eight  as  much  work  as 
a  family  of  three  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes,  and  more,  but  not  as  things  were  done 
then.  I  remember  your  house  well.  There  was 
a  kitchen  and  a  parlor.  There  was  no  dining- 
room  to  keep  in  order,  nor  any  sitting-room. 
The  parlor  was  shut  up  all  the  week,  and  rarely 
opened  only  when  it  was  dusted.  There  was  a 
recess  off  from  the  kitchen  where  your  mother 
slept,  and  the  bed  just  filled  that,  so  there  was  no 
room  there  to  sweep,  with  a  dresser  and  toilet 
stand  to  keep  in  order.  Up  stairs  there  were  two 
bedrooms  and  a  store-room.  Both  of  them  were 
plain  and  uncarpeted.  Really  there  were  but 
three  rooms  in  the  house   to  keep  in  order." 

"  Well,  I  don't  see  as  that  makes  so  much 
difference,"  said  The  Man  Next  Door,  in  a 
slightly  faltering  voice. 

"  If  you  did  the  work  you  'd  see  it  quick  enough. 
A  family  in  the  same  circumstances,  nowadays, 
has  a  kitchen  (carpeted  at  that),  dining-room,  and 
parlor,  and  perhaps  a  sitting-room,  too.  All  these 
rooms  are  well  furnished  with  a  variety  of  knick. 
knacks  that  would  not  have  been  in  use  thirty 
years  ago,  and  to  keep  them  in  order  requires 
considerable  care.  Then  there  is  scarcely  a  week 
but  that  the  parlor  is  occupied,  and  every  time  it 
is  used  it  has  to  be  swept,  and  everything  in  it 
dusted.  Then  there  are  one  or  more  bedrooms, 
nicely  furnished,  and  requiring  work  to  keep  them 


242  THE  MAN  NEXT  DOOR, 

looking  decent.  The  five  or  six  rooms  in  constant 
use  by  the  family  nowadays  require  more  than 
double  the  work  to  take  care  of  them  than  did 
the  same  number  of  rooms  thirty  years  ago.  Then 
there  is  the  visiting.  That  of  itself  is  a  far 
greater  item  than  it  was  when  you  lived  at  home. 
When  I  was  a  girl  at  home,  mother  used  to  think 
she  was  sufficiently  dressed  with  a  clean  calico  on 
in  the  afternoon.  She  sat  in  the  kitchen,  and  there 
did  her  sewing,  when  she  got  through  the  other 
work  ;  and  if  a  neighbor  came  in,  no  change  was 
made.  Now  the  fashion  is  to  make  calls,  and  you 
have  got  to  make  them  and  receive  them,  —  not  in 
the  kitchen,  in  a  calico  dress,  but  in  the  parlor,  or 
sitting-room,  and  in  a  company  dress.  No  woman 
can  go  around  in  a  calico  dress  in  the  afternoon. 
She  must  be  dressed,  either  to  receive  her  visitors 
or  to  make  return  calls,  and  all  that  takes  time. 
I  guess  you  '11  find  that  a  woman  now,  who  has  a 
family,  has  far  more  to  do  than  the  woman  of 
thirty  years  ago." 

"Come  on,  if  you  're  going  home,"  said  The 
Man  Next  Door,  as  he  got  up  and  reached  for  his 
hat. 


No.  lo.  — CHARITY  AND  THE  MULTITUDE. 

One  of  my  neighbors  is  an  elderly  lady.  She 
and  I  go  to  the  same  church.  She  is  an  active 
member,  —  active  in  feeling,  at  any  rate,  as  her 
sympathies  are  with  the  church's  various  projects 


AND   OTHER  ESSAYS.  243 

and  its  condition.  Near  to  her  lives  a  woman  with 
whom  she  has  been  at  variance  for  some  time. 
They  were  once  close  friends,  each  making  as 
free  in  the  house  of  the  other  as  in  her  own,  as 
is  quite  frequently  the  case  between  congenial 
neighbors  in  a  small  village  like  ours.  It  was 
a  very  convenient  condition  of  affairs,  too,  on 
numerous  occasions,  when  one  family  ran  short 
of  some  article  of  culinary  use,  and  had  no  oppor- 
tunity to  send  to  the  store.  Thus,  in  the  course 
of  several  years,  many  cups  of  milk,  and  drawings 
of  tea,  and  lumps  of  butter  and  the  like,  passed  to 
and  fro. 

But  this  came  to  an  end  after  a  while,  and 
domestic  and  social  interchange  was  dropped, 
and  dropped  with  sufficient  force  to    smash  it. 

But  that  is  not  what  I  started  out  to  write 
about. 

I  was  in  the  old  lady's  house  yesterday  after- 
noon on  an  errand,  and  after  the  transaction  of 
the  matter  she  asked  me  if  I  was  at  church 
Sunday.  I  told  her  I  was  not ;  a  very  severe  cold 
had  kept  me  at  home. 

"You  had  oughter  been  there,"  she  went  on 
to  observe.  "You  missed  one  of  the  best  ser- 
mons you  ever  heard.  It  was  a  powerful  one,  I 
can  tell  you.  It  was  the  gospel  clean  through. 
I  don't  think  I  ever  knowed  Mr.  Highdecker  to 
do  so  well  as  he  did  Sunday." 

"I  am  glad  to  hear  you  were  so  well  pleased 
with  the  sermon  ;  what  was  it  about  .■'  "  I  asked. 


:244  THE  MAN  NEXT  DOOR, 

"It  was  about  charity,  and  I  tell  you  he  just 
give  it  to  'em.  His  text  he  took  from  Paul, 
where  Paul  says  that  if  a  man  does  this  or  that, 
or  whatever  he  does,  or  how  good  it  may  be,  yet 
if  there  ain't  charity  in  his  heart,  all  the  good  he 
does  don't  amount  to  a  row  of  pins.  I  've  been 
thinking  of  it  all  the  week,  and  I  tell  you  them 
are  the  sermons  that  count  that  keep  you  a-think- 
ing  of  'em.  Them  things  you  hear  so  much  about 
in  the  pulpits  nowadays  —  all  about  science  and 
such  folderol — go  in  one  ear  and  out  of  the 
other,  and  you  'd  better  heard  nothing  at  all  in 
the  first  place.  That  's  just  what  I  think  about 
it." 

I  fully  agreed  with  my  friend  on  this  head,  and 
then  asked  her  what  sort  of  point  Mr.  Highdecker 
had  made  of  the  text. 

"He  went  on  to  say,"  she  continued,  "that 
there  was  too  much  talk,  and  too  little  done  in 
the  way  of  charity.  And  I  could  see  who  he 
was  slapping  there.  He  said  that  thinking  good, 
and  then  doing  nothing  to  bring  it  about,  did  n't 
amount  to  anything,  and  of  course  it  don't.  He 
said  that  we  'd  better  not  think  good  at  all  if  we 
was  agoing  to  let  it  stop  right  there.  I  never 
thought  of  it  in  that  light,  but  I  can  see  that  he 
is  right ;  for,  as  he  said,  if  we  think  we  will  do 
something  for  somebody,  or  if  we  feel  real  sorry 
for  somebody,  and  don't  go  and  act  on  it,  we  just 
weaken  ourselves,  and  ain't  done  a  mite  of  good 
to  anybody." 


AND  OTHER  ESSAYS.  245 

The  old  lady  paused  and  sighed,  and  presently 
continued,  as  the  tears  filled  her  eyes,  — 

"  He  talked  so  beautifully  of  our  love  for  each 
other,  how  patient  we  should  be,  how  much  of 
suffering  there  was  in  the  hearts  of  people,  how 
much  of  good  there  was  in  those  about  us  if  we  'd 
only  take  the  trouble  to  find  it  out,  but  we  go  on 
our  own  way,  wrapped  up  in  self,  and  never  take 
notice  of  the  aches,  and  trials,  and  burdens  all 
around  us.  I  could  n't  keep  from  crying  all  the 
while  he  was  talking,  I  felt  so  bad,  and  all  the 
week  I  've  been  thinking  it  over.  I  tell  you  we  ain't 
got  charity  enough  for  other  folks,  we  ain't  patient 
enough,  we  don't  have  the  sympathy  we  had 
oughter  ;  we  just  go  right  along  thinking  the  very 
worst  of  them,  when  all  the  time  they  may  be 
enduring  things  that  would  make  us  no  better 
than  they  are." 

The  old  lady  wiped  her  eyes,  and  turned  them 
to   the  window. 

"Just  see  that  brazen-faced  hussy!"  she  sud- 
denly and  unexpectedly  exclaimed. 

And  looking  hastily  through  the  window,  I  was 
in  time  to  see  the  offending  neighbor  go  by. 

"If  there's  a  body  I  despise  on  this  earth,' 
energetically  observed  Mr.  Highdecker's  admirer 
"it  is  that  bold-faced  thing." 

I  then  withdrew. 


246  THE  MAN  NEXT  DOOR, 


No.  II.  — ENUMERATING   CHICKENS. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Potts  live  on  our  street.  They 
are  a  young  married  couple  ;  that  is,  they  have 
been  married  but  seven  or  eight  years. 

Mr.  Potts  is  a  workman  in  our  only  factory. 
He  is  a  very  good  mechanic,  and  as  such  has  his 
aspirations  to  better  himself.  Mrs.  Potts  is  an 
ordinary  woman,  somewhat  fond  of  making  what 
show  is  possible  with  the  means  she  has  at  her 
command. 

A  short  time  ago  he  invested  with  a  fellow- 
workman  in  a  lottery.  The  prize  he  had  set  his 
heart  on  was  of  the  value  of  ;?  10,000.  By  draw- 
ing this  he  would  come  into  one  half  of  it,  which 
would  be  $5,000. 

With  so  much  money  as  that  there  was  no  end 
to  the  things  he  could  accomplish.  He  told  his 
wife  about  it,  and  they  had  a  long  talk  over  the 
future  as  this  amount  was  to  shape  it.  In  the 
mean  time  they  both  built  their  own  plans  for 
the  disposal  of  the  amount,  —  the  chief  of  these 
was  a  house  of  their  own.  They  picked  out  a 
desirable  lot  in  the  village,  on  one  of  the  best 
streets,  and  drew  plans  of  the  style  of  house  they 
would  put  up.  Twice  they  walked  over  to  the 
lot,  and  carefully  examined  it  in  the  moonlight. 

The  night  before  they  were  to  receive  the 
results  of  the  drawing  they  harmonized  on  a  plan 


AND  OTHER  ESSAYS.  247 

for  the  house,  and  got  it  satisfactorily  furnished 
throughout,  with  the  exception  of  the  sitting-room 
and  parlor. 

She  said  nothing  but  a  Brussels  carpet  would 
do  for  the  floors  of  those  apartments.  He  be- 
lieved three-ply  ingrain  would  look  fully  as  well, 
besides  being  much  cheaper.  He  could  n't  put 
all  the  money  in  the  house.  He  wanted  some  to 
spare  for  several  mechanical  experiments  he  had 
in  view. 

"  But  ingrain  carpets  are  so  common,"  she 
interposed. 

"The  best  kinds  ain't,"  he  answered.  "I  saw 
some  the  other  day  that  looked  just  like  Brussels. 
You  could  n't  tell  'em  from  the  real  Brussels." 

"  But  they  ain't  Brussels,  and  folks  would  find 
it  out  mighty  quick." 

"  What  if  they  did  .■'  Are  we  obliged  to  put 
down  carpets  to  suit  other  people,  whether  we  can 
afford  it  or  not.-'"  he  inquired. 

"  Afford  it :  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  all 
the  money,  then,  I  'd  like  to  know  .-*  And  how 
much  more  is  Brussels  carpeting  going  to  cost 
than  first-class  ingrain .''  Twenty-five  dollars  would 
cover  the  whole  difference,  and  I  'd  like  to  know 
how  twenty-five  dollars  could  be  spent  to  better 
advantage.  It  would  make  the  rooms  look  fifty 
dollars  better." 

"But  what's  the  reason  a  nice  ingrain  carpet 
would  not  do  just  as  well .''  "  he  persisted. 

"  Because  ingrain  ain't  as  stylish  as    Brussels. 


248  THE  MAN  NEXT  DOOR, 

Everybody  knows  that,  and  if  we  are  going  to 
have  things  in  style,  we  have  got  to  have  Brus- 
sels carpet  on  those  floors.  Ingrain  would  only 
make  fools  of  the  other  things." 

"I  tell  you  a  first-class  ingrain  carpet  is  just  as 
well,  and,  at  any  rate,  there  ain't  enough  differ- 
ence to  amount  to  twenty-five  dollars.  Mother 
had  ingrain  on  her  parlor,  and  if  it  is  good  enough 
for  her  it  is  good  enough  for  me." 

"I  don't  care  if  she  did,"  returned  Mrs.  Potts; 
"  her  house  was  n't  like  this,  and  if  she  was  a 
mind  to  put  up  with  an  ingrain  carpet,  that  is  n't 
to  say  that  I  should." 

"  She  might  have  had  a  Brussels  if  she  'd  wanted 
it,"  he  answered  back,  ''but  she  had  some  sense 
about  the  matter." 

"Which  means,  I  suppose,  that  I  *ve  got  none," 
she  indiscreetly  observed. 

"  You  can  take  it  as  you  please,"  was  his  gruff 
permission. 

"  I  hope  you  are  polite  enough,"  she  said,  flush- 
ing slightly. 

He  made  no  answer.  It  was  that  sort  of  stub- 
born silence  some  people  fall  into  on  inappropri- 
ate occasions. 

"  There  shall  be  a  Brussels  carpet  in  those  rooms 
if  I  can  have  anything  to  say  in  the  matter,"  she 
asserted. 

"There  won't  if  I  know  myself,"  he  obstinately 
responded. 

"  I  would  n't  be  a  brute,"  said  she. 


AND  OTHER  ESSAYS.  249 

"I  wouldn't  be  a  fool,"  he  retorted. 

Then  she  burst  into  tears,  and  went  off  to  bed, 
and  he  sat  there  alone  brooding  over  her  ill-temper 
and  nursing  his  own. 

What  misery  may  have  grown  out  of  this 
unpleasant  affair  will  never  be  known,  as  the 
prize  was  drawn  by  somebody  out  West,  and  too 
far  West  far  a  Brussels  carpet  to  go. 


No.  12.  — MARTHA'S   IDEAL. 

When  I  was  a  boy  Martha  was  twenty  years  of 
age.  She  was  an  almost  constant  companion  of 
my  sisters,  and  a  very  familiar  object  to  me.  Mar- 
tha was  peculiar.  I  did  n't  know  anything  about 
this,  but  I  used  to  hear  my  sisters  speak  of  it.  I 
knew  she  was  a  quiet  girl,  and  imagined  she  was 
somewhat  of  a  dreamer.  I  believed,  without  know- 
ing much  about  it,  or  reasoning  over  it,  that  she 
was  particular.  Perhaps  her  peculiarities  arose 
from  her  nature  to  be  particular.  But  that  is 
neither  here  nor  there. 

Martha  was  a  dreamer.  She  had  an  ideal,  not 
of  life,  which  we  all  should  have,  but  of  a  husband ; 
the  man  who  was  some  time  to  come  to  her  out  of 
the  future,  and  lay  his  all  at  her  feet.  Time  has 
developed  that  the  husband  in  question  was  pretty 
deep  into  the  future  at  that  period.     This  picture 


250'  THE  MAN  NEXT  DOOR, 

of  the  Ideal  was  carried  so  long  in  Martha's  heart, 
that  it  became  a  constant  thought  with  her,  and 
eventually  it  was  confided  to  the  admiring  gaze  of 
my  sisters.  Of  course  she  found  plenty  of  sym- 
pathy with  them.  I  suppose  Martha  must  have 
taken  a  great  deal  of  comfort  in  dreaming  of  the 
Ideal,  and  wondering  when  he  v/ould  come,  and 
under  what  circumstances  he  would  appear. 

Martha  had  selected  a  model  for  her  Ideal.  The 
Ideal  was  to  have  black  hair  and  eyes.  The  Ideal 
was  to  have  a  dark  complexion.  The  Ideal  was  to 
be  faultless  in  dress  and  manners.  I  remember 
one  thing  particular  about  the  Ideal.  He  was  not 
to  smoke.  I  never  heard  Martha  say  so  exactly, 
but  I  once  heard  her  say  that  no  gentleman  would 
smoke  in  the  presence  of  a  lady,  even  on  the  street, 
and  this  implied  as  much.  The  Ideal  was  a  gen- 
tleman, of  course.  The  use  of  tobacco,  Martha 
said,  was  nasty  and  vulgar.  The  Ideal  was  cer- 
tainly not  vulgar. 

Martha  went  on  cherishing  her  Ideal,  and  eigh- 
teen years  after  my  acquaintance  with  her  began, 
she  married.  A  greater  part  of  that  time  the  two 
families  were  separated,  and  I  rarely  saw  Martha. 
Since  her  marriage  I  have  seen  her  less  than  for- 
merly. It  was  a  year  after  that  event  that  I  first 
saw  her  husband.  He  is  a  mason,  sober,  indus- 
trious, and  frugal ;  a  very  good  man,  indeed.  They 
have  been  married  three  years  or  more. 

This  afternoon  I  was  looking  aimlessly  from  my 
window,   when   I   saw   Martha's   husband   coming 


AND    OTHER  ESSAYS.  ^5 1 

across  the  street.  I  was  looking  at  him  carelessly 
when  the  far-away  past  suddenly  flashed  before 
me. 

This  was  not  Martha's  husband  alone,  coming 
toward  me  ;  it  was  the  Ideal  as  well.  Here  was  a 
fulfilled  dream,  a  hope  come  to  fruition.  I  looked 
at  him  closely. 

The  Ideal,  clothed  with  real  flesh  and  blood,  is 
a  man  about  forty-five  years  old.  In  height  he  is 
five  feet  seven  or  eight.  He  weighs  about  two 
hundred  and  ten  pounds.  He  has  got  a  round 
face,  and  wears  short  side  whiskers  (round-faced 
men  should  always  wear  side  whiskers).  His  hair 
is  sandy,  thick,  and  curls  outward  where  it  curls 
at  all.  He  wears  a  soft  hat,  and  there  are  marks 
of  mortar  on  it.  On  his  legs  are  a  pair  of  brown 
overalls,  the  ends  of  which  are  stuck  in  his  boots. 
I  noticed,  as  he  passes  the  window,  that  the  Ideal 
runs  over  his  boots  at  the  heel.  A  thick,  heavy 
coat,  with  the  original  color  burned  out  of  the 
shoulder  by  the  sun,  is  on  the  Ideal's  back.  About 
the  Ideal's  neck,  loosely  wound,  and  with  the  knot 
located  in  an  unpleasantly  suggestive  manner 
under  his  left  ear,  is  a  red  and  green  and  yelloi::' 
comforter.  The  Ideal  carries  a  whitewash  brush 
in  one  hand,  and  the  other  hand  is  housed  in  his 
coat  pocket.  In  the  Ideal's  mouth  is  a  short- 
stemmed  clay  pipe. 

I  cannot  help  but  wish  that  I  had  not  seen  this ; 
or,  having  seen  it,  that  I  might  believe  it  was  got 
for  the  formation  of  soap  bubbles,  but  a  delicate 


252  THE  MAN  NEX7  DOOR, 

column  of  smoke  curls  upward  from  it,  and  carries 
the  desired  illusion  skyward. 


No.  13.  — SPECULATIONS   ON   A   CUSTOM. 

Much  is  said  of  leap  year,  the  gist  of  which 
appears  to  reflect  on  the  gentler  sex.  The  rare 
privilege  is  accorded  to  them  to  do  just  as  the 
men  do,  and  I  trust  they  are  sufficiently  grateful 
for  the  same,  although  I  cannot  say  that  I  ever 
knew  of  a  woman  availing  herself  of  the  same. 
Still,  it  must  be  a  comfort  to  them  to  know  that 
for  a  whole  year  they  are  not  obliged  to  wait  for 
the  man,  but  can  pitch  in  for  themselves.  It  is 
harder  to  wait  than  to  do.  Action  brings  relief  to 
the  pressure  on  brain  and  head,  but  waiting  has  no 
relief.  This  is,  I  suspect,  the  reason  a  woman  is 
more  patient  than  a  man.  I  am  led,  in  the  con- 
sideration of  this  aspect  of  the  case,  to  realize 
how  hard  is  the  lot  of  the  female  of  our  specie. 

At  church,  for  instance,  she  is  not  sure  of  an 
escort  home  unless  provided  for  beforehand.  And 
if  an  offer  comes,  it  is  more  than  likely  it  will  be 
from  one  she  cares  nothing  about.  A  man  has  his 
choice  in  these  matters.  A  woman  is  subject  to 
the  choice  of  another,  or  compelled  to  go  without. 
I  am  afraid  man  don't  fully  comprehend  his 
blessings. 


AND  OTHER  ESSAYS.  253 

On  the  other  hand,  there  is  a  good  deal  of  wear 
and  tear  the  woman  escapes,  and  before  she  con- 
ckides  to  take  advantage  of  leap  year  she  should 
consider  the  ground  fully.  To  take  the  man's 
place  and  do  the  courting,  she  is  obliged  to  do 
many  things.  She  must  be  indifferent  to  the 
weather.     The  true  lover  goes  at  all  times. 

She  has  got  to  take  her  stand  in  a  line  of  not 
very  particular  young  men  before  the  church  door 
every  Sunday  evening,  and  risk  a  refusal  for  an 
escort  from  the  one  she  admires,  and  submit  to 
the  raillery  of  the  gang  if  the  refusal  comes. 
There  is  no  avoiding  this.  If  she  goes  a  piece 
away  from  the  church  and  the  glare  of  light  to 
wait  for  her  object,  she  is  either  certain,  in  the 
dark,  to  miss  him,  or  to  find  that  he  has  been 
gobbled  up  by  some  less  sensitive  rival. 

She  has  got  to  have  legs  like  those  of  an  ante- 
lope, to  enable  her  to  climb  over  people  in  the 
pursuit  of  her  prey. 

She  has  either  got  to  have  an  umbrella  of  her 
own,  or  know  where  she  can  borrow  one  without 
the  loss  of  any  time. 

She  has  got  to  have  the  money  to  buy,  and  the 
judgment  to  select,  candy,  fruit,  and  nuts. 

She  has  got  to  have  a  constitution  to  stand  a 
lunch  of  pickles  and  cake  after  midnight,  three  or 
more  times  a  week. 

She  has  got  to  do  most  of  the  kissing  and  about 
all  the  talking,  —  that  is,  the  talk  that  bears  most 
directly  on  the  subject. 


254  THE  MAN  NEXT  DOOR, 

She  has  got  to  hold  him  from  three  to  five  hours 
at  a  stretch,  even  if  he  should  weigh  half  a  ton. 

She  has  got  to  give  him  two  thirds  of  the 
umbrella. 

She  has  got  to  carry  his  basket  to  the  picnic, 
and  fight  the  wasps  away  from  him. 

She  has  got  to  wade  into  the  lake  after  pond 
lilies. 

She  has  got  to  take  the  outside  of  the  walk,  and 
bully  everybody,  from  the  usher  in  the  opera-house 
to  the  waiter  in  the  ice-cream  saloon. 

These  brief  outlines  convey  but  a  sample  of 
what  she  has  got  to  do  to  "be  a  man"  in  love. 
If  she  is  really  going  to  attempt  it,  she  can  have 
all  the  particulars  by  addressing  me. 

Please  enclose  a  stamp. 


THE   MIGGSES'   THANKSGIVING. 

Mr.  Miggs  is  a  painter.  It  is  not  the  business 
Mr.  Miggs's  father  designed  him  to  follow,  but 
under  that  peculiar  combination  of  influences 
which  serves  to  so  form  the  circumstances  of  the 
unfortunate  in  this  world's  goods  as  to  drift  them 
that  way,  Mr.  Miggs  became  a  painter.  There 
is  a  fatality  about  this  that  no  man  can  any  more 
explain  than  the  victim  himself  can  resist.  When 
a  man  commences  to  run  down  at  the  heel,  as  the 


AND   OTHER  ESSAYS.  255 

saying  is,  it  is  safe  to  predict  that  he  will  become 
a  painter.  We  do  not  mean,  by  this,  that  the  paint- 
pot  is  a  depot  for  the  housing  alone  of  the  shift- 
ing ventures  in  the  business  world.  We  are  of 
the  belief  that,  as  a  trade,  it  requires  careful 
study,  intelligence,  and  application,  and  that  to 
be  a  good  painter  is  just  as  much  a  task  and  an 
honor  as  to  be  a  good  carpenter.  But  people 
unfortunate  in  their  plans  eventually  become 
painters.  Mr.  Miggs  was  apprenticed  to  a  hatter, 
but  gave  up  when  midway  in  the  trade,  and 
resolved  to  become  a  carriage-trimmer,  as  being 
a  much  more  genteel  as  well  as  easier  mode  of 
earning  a  living.  The  attractions  of  the  business 
were,  at  a  later  period,  entirely  eclipsed  by  the 
glittering  generalities  of  fish  peddling,  and  Mr. 
Miggs  speedily  lost  himself  in  the  voluptuous 
surroundings  of  a  fish  market.  It  was  easy 
enough,  after  this,  to  approach  painting,  and  be- 
fore Mr.  Miggs  himself  hardly  realized  it  he  was 
a  painter,  with  a  pair  of  overalls  of  his  own,  and  a 
glaze  cap,  which  latter  is  generally  admitted  to  be 
of  incalculable  advantage  in  painting.  Four  weeks 
of  patient  study,  and  Mr.  Miggs  was  smearing 
barns,  fences,  and  unpretentious  houses  on  his 
own  account.  More  than  that,  he  had  aspirations, 
including  painting  the  lily  and  gilding  refined 
gold,  and  was  given  to  devoting  whole  hours  to 
studying  public  buildings,  or  to  silence  so  impen- 
etrable as  to  be  oppressively  significant.  Mr. 
Miggs's  friends   soon  got  the  impression  that  he 


256  THE  MAN  NEXT  DOOR, 

was  on  the  verge  of  doing  an  immense  business, 
and  would  not  have  been  surprised  to  have  heard 
any  day  that  he  had  an  order  for  touching  up  the 
universe  in  three  colors.  Pretty  soon  Mr.  Miggs 
went  back  to  the  fish  market,  in  order  to  occupy 
his  time  while  leading  citizens,  contemplating 
improvements  in  their  residences,  were  making 
up  their  minds.  And  so  between  the  fish-horn 
and  the  paint-brush,  Mr.  Miggs  and  his  overalls 
and  glaze  cap  went  through  the  years,  and  an 
atmosphere  of  decided  odors  impartially  contrib- 
uted by  fish  and  paint. 

And  now  Thanksgiving  day,  1877,  has  ap- 
proached, and  Mr.  Miggs,  with  his  heart  full  of 
patriotism,  because  he  can  look  at  the  day  in  no 
other  light  than  that  of  patriotic  glow,  sets  to 
work  to  appropriately  celebrate  the  occasion. 
From  painting  to  fish  vending,  Mr.  Miggs  has 
succeeded  in  accumulating,  in  the  past  ten  years, 
three  living  children,  together  with  a  limited 
amount  of  furniture,  and  an  unlimited  area  of 
prospects.  To  observe  a  Thanksgiving  without 
a  turkey  could  not  be  thought  of.  There  are 
people  who  work  through  the  day  on  roast  pork 
or  chicken,  but  it  is  an  incongruous  spectacle  to  a 
broad  and  comprehensive  mind  with  national  ten- 
dencies. Mr.  Miggs  determined,  of  course,  to 
have  a  turkey.  As  this  religious  bird  does  not 
grow  on  every  bush,  the  getting  of  it,  in  the  cir- 
cumstances which  a  long  stress  of  idleness  had 
woven   about   Mr.   Miggs,   was  a  matter  of  some 


AND    OTHER  ESSAYS.  257 

difficulty ;  in  fact,  to  an  uninitiated  intellect  it 
would  seem  an  utter  impossibility. 

To  Mr.  Miggs  it  came  as  a  matter  of  course. 
Years  of  battling  with  fate  in  the  persons  of  many 
and  indignant  provision  dealers  had  materially 
sharpened  his  wits  to  a  degree  that  was  almost  pre- 
ternatural. There  is  a  way  provided  for  this  class 
of  people  to  make  progress  in  this  life.  With 
every  emergency  comes  the  strength  to  climb  over 
it.  Mr.  Miggs  not  only  climbed  over,  but  inva- 
riably struck  squarely  and  safely  on  his  feet  on  the 
other  side.  An  unfeeling  populace  were  inclined 
to  believe  that  Mr.  Miggs  was  shiftless,  although 
admitting  that  he  did  not  belong  to  that  branch  of 
the  shiftless  who  were  lucky  in  fishing,  hunting, 
and  raffling.  Mr.  Miggs  never  went  fishing,  never 
won  anything  at  a  raffle,  and  only  once  went  hunt- 
ing, when  the  premature  discharge  of  a  gun  for- 
ever destroyed  his  interest  in  this  exhilarating 
sport,  and  the  contour  of  his  nose,  giving  that 
feature  an  uncomfortable-looking  twist. 

The  afternoon  before  Thanksgiving,  Mr.  Miggs 
was  on  the  street  with  a  red  tippet  swathing  his 
neck,  a  battered  and  buttonless  gray  coat  cover- 
ing his  body,  and  a  pair  of  dyed-brown  pants  con- 
cealing his  legs  from  the  icJle  curiosity  of  the 
world.  On  his  feet  were  a  pair  of  brand  new 
rubbers,  whose  shiny  surface  was  pleasantly  con- 
spicuous. Mr.  Miggs  walked  up  and  down  the 
street,  pausing  to  look  at  the  turkeys  displayed  by 
the    provision    dealers,   and   to    cast    still    more 

17 


258  THE  MAN  NEXT  DOOR, 

searching  glances  into  the  faces  of  the  owners. 
They  might  have  been  as  one  man,  as  far  as  the 
expression  was  concerned.  It  was  an  uncompro- 
mising cast  of  countenance  that  confronted  Mr. 
Miggs  at  every  stand.  Still  he  walked  up  and 
down,  and  stopped  and  looked,  and  spoke  admir- 
ingly of  the  birds,  and  hopefully  of  his  prospects. 
There  was  no  bitterness  in  his  heart,  no  mark  of 
care  on  his  brow,  but  it  is  perfectly  safe  to 
believe  that  not  for  one  instant  was  the  need  of 
a  turkey  out  of  his  mind. 

One  hour  later  Mr.  Miggs  marched  triumph- 
antly into  his  home,  and  laid  a  ten-pound  turkey 
on  the  table,  and  alongside  of  it  a  bunch  of 
celery,  and  said,  "There!"  to  his  wife.  And 
that  was  all  he  did  say,  for  it  would  not  do  to 
treat  as  phenomenal  what  was  simply  a  matter  of 
course.  By  what  process  Mr.  Miggs  possessed 
himself  of  that  turkey  and  that  celery,  when  he 
did  not  have  a  single  penny  on  his  person  to 
negotiate  with,  is  one  of  those  mysteries  that 
occasionally  drop  into  this  life,  and  confound  to 
the  furtherest  degree  the  clearest  and  ablest 
intellects.  It  is  doubtful  if  to  Mr.  Miggs  him- 
self it  would  appear  as  a  remarkable  transaction. 
He  merely  recognized  it  as  one  of  those  things 
that  had  got  to  come.     And  come  it  did. 

Thanksgiving  day  came  in  wet  and  despondent, 
but  it  did  not  affect  Mr.  Miggs's  feelings.  Having 
secured  the  material  for  an  appropriate  observa- 
tion of  the  day,  and  thus  honorably  responded  to 


AND  OTHER  ESSAYS.  259 

the  patriotic  demands  of  his  nature,  Mr.  Miggs 
was  not  disturbed  by  the  eccentricities  of  the 
weather.  He  went  up  street  in  the  forenoon  to 
look  at  the  provision  dealers  again,  and  about 
noon  he  returned  home  ostensibly  to  fix  a  bureau 
which  wanted  mending,  but  hurting  his  finger  by 
the  slipping  of  a  screw-driver,  he  went  to  a  neigh- 
bor's for  a  better  tool,  and  stayed  there  about  an 
hour  to  talk  about  the  financial  outcome  of  the 
country,  and  how  many  houses  he  could  paint  in 
an  hour,  or  in  some  equally  improbable  length  of 
time,  — if  they  were  passed  out  to  him. 

In  the  mean  time  Mrs.  Miggs  busied  herself 
with  her  household  cares.  These  consisted  of 
making  ready  the  turkey  and  cuffing  the  young 
Miggses,  who,  being  shut  in  from  outdoors  by  the 
state  of  the  weather,  were  disposed  to  make  them- 
selves uncommonly  officious  in  retaliation.  To 
this  end  they  appeared  in  unexpected  places  at 
unexpected  times,  and  got  before  her,  or  in  under 
her,  and  kept  open  the  doors,  and  upset  dishes, 
and  knocked  over  the  furniture,  and  performed  a 
variety  of  other  acts  appropriate  to  the  condition 
of  the  weather  and  the  consequent  condition  of 
their  spirits. 

In  this  vortex  of  sound  and  annoyance  Mrs. 
Miggs  stuffed  the  turkey,  and  basted  it,  and  the 
turkey  itself  simmered  and  browned,  and  the 
unhappy  woman  declared  over  and  over  again 
that  there  was  not  another  such  a  set  of  noisy, 
wilful  brats  on  the  surface  of  the  earth  as  her 
life  was  pestered  with. 


26o  THE  MAN  NEXT  DOOR, 

About  one  o'clock  Mr.  Miggs  apppeared,  and 
seemed  somewhat  surprised  to  learn  that  dinner 
was  not  ready,  although  there  was  no  precedent 
for  believing  that  it  would  be.  But  as  he  had 
come,  Mrs.  Miggs  took  advantage  of  it  to  enlighten 
him  on  the  fact  that  her  life  was  that  of  a  slave, 
that  she  never  had  been  and  never  could  be  like 
other  women,  that  it  was  toil  from  sunrise  to 
sunset,  and  never  to  see  anything  accomplished, 
not  to  have  anything  to  wear,  nor  to  go  anywhere 
like  other  people  ;  and  she  never  got  any  thanks, 
and  she  might  work  till  she  dropped  dead  with- 
out a  hand  being  lifted  to  help  her.  This  caused 
Mr.  Miggs  to  start  up  as  if  the  harangue  had  been 
entirely  new  to  him,  and  to  inquire  in  the  spirit 
of  the  day  what  in  the  jimblety  jam  was  the 
matter,  that  he  could  n't  step  foot  into  that  house 
without  being  grumbled  at  and  groaned  at  till  he 
was  sicker'npizen  of  living.  Whereupon  Mrs. 
Miggs  said  she  did  n't  want  her  head  snapped  off; 
it  was  bad  enough  to  get  along  with  a  mess  of 
screaming,  meddlesome  brats,  without  this.  The 
reference  to  the  children  proved  a  timely  safety- 
valve  to  Mr.  Miggs's  sorely  tried  patience,  and  he 
at  once  walked  in  among  them,  carrying  consterna- 
tion and  dismay  into  the  inmost  recesses  of  their 
turbulent  natures. 

And  thus  matters  progressed  until  the  dinner 
came  on  to  the  table,  which  it  did  at  that  hour 
when  the  reason  of  the  waiting  ones  begins  to 
totter,  as  is  the  custom  in  all  families  on  Thanks- 


AND  OTHER  ESSAYS.  26 1 

giving  day.  Mrs.  Miggs  planked  the  turkey  down 
in  the  centre  of  the  table,  and  looking  around  on 
the  children,  who  had  already  scrambled  into 
place,  and  were  making  that  snuffing  noise  peculiar 
to  uninformed  children  when  eagerly  expectant, 
she  exclaimed,  — 

"  There !  Now  stuff  yourself  to  death,  if  you 
want  to." 

And  with  this  maternal  injunction,  in  addition 
to  an  injunction  from  the  paternal  side  not  to 
make  hogs  of  themselves,  the  Thanksgiving  dinner 
got  under  way.  Whatever  of  gratitude  there 
might  have  been  in  Mr.  Miggs's  heart,  it  remained 
sequestered  there.  His  face  showed  no  symptoms 
of  it.  There  was  a  certain  degree  of  pride  in 
having  secured  such  a  turkey  in  the  face  of  so 
many  circumstances  discouraging  to  such  an  in- 
vestment, but  that  was  natural  enough,  and  Mr. 
Miggs  would  have  been  much  less  than  human 
had  he  not  experienced  it. 

In  such  spaces  of  time  as  were  not  devoted  to  in- 
dignantly swooping  down  on  the  boys,  and  rescuing 
the  celery  from  their  piratical  incursions,  or  pas- 
sionately calling  upon  heaven  (his  only  reference 
in  that  direction)  to  just  make  a  note  of  the 
extraordinary  hollowness  of  their  anatomy,  he 
would  proudly  observe,  referring  to  the  turkey, 
"That  's  a  buster,  an'  no  mistake,"  "I  guess  some 
folks  can  have  turkey  as  well  as  some  other 
folks,"  "  I  '11  bet  there  ain't  one  man  in  fifty  who 
could   pick   out   a   turkey   like   that,"    and   othor 


262  THE  MAN  NEXT  DOOR, 

observations  of  a  like  comforting  and  instructive 
nature. 

After  dinner  Mr,  Miggs  put  on  his  tippet,  and 
went  off  to  see  the  member  of  the  legislature 
from  Danbury,  who,  it  was  understood,  desired 
to  confer  with  him  in  regard  to  frescoing  the 
Capitol,  and  Mrs.  Miggs  sat  down  with  a  book 
entitled  "True  Love,"  leaving  the  table  standing. 
The  three  boys  adjourned  into  the  back  shed, 
where  the  oldest  two,  failing  to  dispossess  the 
youngest  of  the  wish-bone  by  the  transfer  of  a 
piece  of  green  glass,  immediately  fell  upon  him 
with  a  view  to  accomplishing  their  purpose  by 
violence,  in  which  process  a  shelf  containing  a 
variety  of  articles  was  brought  down  with  its 
contents,  and  in  turn  brought  out  the  half-crazed 
mother,  v/ho  pulled  her  progeny  from  under  the 
wreck  by  such  portions  of  their  persons  as  ap- 
peared to  view,  and  having  cuffed  them  impar- 
tially on  both  sides  of  the  head,  sat  them  on  chairs 
as  far  apart  as  the  size  of  the  room  would  admit. 
And  there  they  remained  in  misery's  highest 
estate,  nursing  their  wounded  persons  and  feel- 
ings, and  scowling  gloomily  upon  their  mother 
whenever  her  turned  back  permitted. 

When  night  closed  in,  the  full  significance  of 
the  glad  festival  was  summed  up  by  Mrs.  Miggs 
in  one  sentence,  — 

"  Thank  heaven,  this  day  is  over  with  !  " 


AND   OTHER  ESSAYS.  263 


YOUNG  MR.   BOBBS. 

There  is  a  marvellous  variety  in  human  nature. 
We  are  not  all  alike,  and  it  is  just  as  well,  per- 
haps, that  we  are  not.  Some  people  are  endowed 
with  a  propensity  for  what  they  call  fun,  that 
sometimes  overbalances  and  controls  every  other 
attribute.  Fun,  as  a  general  thing,  is  the  suffer- 
ing of  one  man  enjoyed  by  another.  No  fun  of 
this  kind  can  be  produced  without  cost,  and  the 
greater  the  cost  the  greater  the  fun.  The  more 
thoroughly  a  man  enjoys  fun,  the  more  active,  it 
will  be  found,  is  that  portion  of  his  mind  devoted 
to  evolving  it.  Such  a  man  will  bring  to  his 
object  a  keenness  of  perception,  a  profundity 
of  cogitation,  and  a  fertility  of  resource,  that,  if 
devoted  to  some  legitimate  result,  would  hasten 
the  millennium  amazingly.  Young  Mr.  Bobbs, 
clerk  for  Merrills,  the  grocer,  is  one  of  this  kind. 
The  economy  of  nature  finds  its  best  exponent  in 
young  Bobbs.  His  face  is  of  that  expression 
which  invites  confidence,  being  colorless,  while 
his  ready  manner,  and  anxiety  to  be  agreeable, 
make  him  a  charming  person  to  deal  with,  and 
one  who  would  quickly  and  most  favorably  impress 
a  stranger.  Young  Bobbs  is  popular  with  elderly 
people  and  ladies,  because  of  his  cheerful  readi- 
ness to  oblige  them,  but  to  those  of  his  own  sex 
and  age  he  is  an  object  of  considerable  distrust. 


264  THE  MAN  NEXT  DOOR, 

The  immovable  expression  of  his  quiet  and  sub- 
dued face  would  make  his  fortune  on  the  stage  ; 
off  the  stage,  we  are  inclined  to  believe,  it  will 
prove  his  death. 

It  was  in  the  middle  of  the  afternoon,  in  the 
middle  of  the  week.  A  dull  day  in  the  grocery. 
Mr.  Merrills  was  out  in  the  country  buying  prod- 
uce. Young  Bobbs  was  alone  in  the  store,  and, 
having  nothing  better  to  do,  was  eating  crackers 
and  sugar,  in  the  proportion  of  four  ounces  of 
sugar  to  one  ounce  of  cracker,  as  is  customary 
with  grocery  clerks.  While  thus  engaged,  a  man 
came  in.  He  was  an  ordinary-looking  party,  but 
he  was  a  stranger,  and  young  Bobbs  put  down  a 
well-loaded  cracker  to  attend  to  him. 

The  stranger  did  not  want  to  trade.  He  was 
the  owner  of  a  valuable  new  paint  for  roofs.  He 
called  to  see  if  he  could  get  a  contract  to  apply  it 
to  this  building.  Young  Bobbs's  sympathy  was 
aroused.  He  inquired  into  the  merits  of  the 
paint,  and  soon  learned  it  stood  unparalleled  in 
excellence.  Young  Bobbs  was  delighted.  He 
had  no  doubt  that  the  stranger  would  be  emi- 
nently successful  in  prosecuting  his  business  in 
Danbury.  The  various  roofs  were  fairly  yelling 
out  for  paint.  He  was  sorry  that  the  owner  of 
this  building  was  not  at  home,  but  he  was  certain 
that  he  would  have  it  painted  the  moment  he  got 
back. 

Young  Bobbs  was  looking  out  of  the  window 
as  he  said  this,  and  his  eyes  caught  the  large  and 


AND   OTHER  ESSAYS.  265 

fair   proportions   of    the   Wooster    House.      The 
glance  that  rested  upon  it  brightened. 

"  Come  to  think,"  he  suddenly  said,  "  there 's 
the  hotel.  I  have  no  doubt  father  would  have 
the  roof  painted.  I  know  there  has  been  consid- 
erable trouble  from  its  leaking." 

"  Oh,  that 's  your  father's,  is  it }  "  said  the  man 
with  the  paint,  and  his  eyes  also  brightened. 
"Well,  I've  no  doubt  my  stuff  will  fix  it.  If  it 
don't,  you  know,  I  don't  ask  any  pay." 

"Certainly." 

"Where  is  your  father .-*" 

"  He 's  gone  away  to-day,  but  will  be  back 
to-morrow,"  explained  young  Bobbs,  while  his 
face  beamed  with  ineffable  purity.  "  What  would 
it  cost  to  paint  the  roof .-' " 

The  man  said  he  could  n't  tell  until  he  knew 
its  dimensions.  He  supposed  he  could  go  over 
and  measure  it  now.  Young  Bobbs  said  he  could 
see  no  objection  to  that,  so  the  man  went.  Pretty 
soon  he  came  back,  and  told  young  Bobbs  that, 
owing  to  the  numerous  angles,  he  could  n't  get 
the  number  of  square  feet  to  any  degree  of  nicety. 
Was  there  a  surveyor  in  town  ?  There  was, 
and  young  Bobbs  kindly  gave  him  the  address. 
Then  the  owner  of  the  extraordinary  paint  hunted 
up  the  surv^eyor,  and  they  both  proceeded  to  the 
roof  and  got  the  exact  measure.  The  stranger 
paid  the  surveyor  three  dollars  for  the  job,  and 
reported  back  to  young  Bobbs  the  full  and  exact 
figures,  which  that  young  gentleman  took  down 


266  THE  MAN  NEXT  DOOR, 

in  a  little  book  with  due  solemnity,  thereby  mak- 
ing a  most  favorable  impression  upon  the  paint 
party. 

At  this  juncture  it  occurred  to  young  Bobbs  to 
indicate  a  substantial  residence  in  sight  of  the 
store  door  as  the  place  of  abode  of  his  parents. 
There  was  a  trouble  with  its  roof,  and  it  was  only 
the  day  before  that  young  Bobbs  had  heard  his 
father  say  that  that  roof  must  have  a  coat  of  paint 
if  it  was  to  be  saved  at  all.  The  stranger  said 
if  there  was  no  objection  he  would  go  right  over 
and  measure  it.  Young  Bobbs  thought  it  was  an 
admirable  idea.  So  he  went.  He  was  in  excel- 
lent spirits.  He  was  having  the  best  of  luck,  and 
was  not  sure  but  that  he  had  struck  a  complete 
bonanza.  He  found  the  doors  of  the  house  locked, 
so,  after  an  unsuccessful  search  over  the  premises, 
he  went  across  the  way  to  a  livery  stable  and 
borrowed  a  ladder.  By  a  great  effort  he  got  it  to 
the  house  and  up  the  roof,  and  ascended  thereto. 
It  was  a  gable  roof,  and  not  an  easy  one  to  go 
around  on  with  a  tape  line.  Once  he  came  within 
an  ace  of  going  off  and  dashing  upon  the  hard 
ground  below,  but  he  saved  himself  by  a  sharp 
wrench  of  the  body,  which  nearly  dislocated  his 
spine. 

The  wife  of  the  old  gentleman  who  owned  the 
property  was  taking  a  nap  on  the  lounge  inside, 
when  the  noise  made  by  the  ladder  awakened  her. 
She  looked  about  the  rooms  for  the  cause  of  the 
disturbance,  but  not  finding  it,  went  outside,  when 


AND  OTHER  ESSAYS.  26y 

she  saw  the  ladder  and  the  pair  of  strange  legs 
disappearing  on  the  roof. 

Puzzled  by  this  spectacle,  she  went  farther  into 
the  yard  to  get  a  glimpse  of  the  roof,  and  then 
observed  the  owner  of  the  marvellous  paint  busily 
engaged  with  his  tape  line.  At  the  same  time 
her  husband  came  upon  the  scene. 

"  What 's  that  man  doing  up  there  ^  "  he  asked. 

That  was  what  she  wanted  explained. 

"  Hello,  there  !  "  he  shouted. 

The  painter  looked  down,  and  seeing  what  he 
believed  to  be  the  owner  of  the  place,  he  smiled, 
and  said,  — 

"  Hello  !  I  could  n't  find  any  one  at  home,  so 
I  took  the  liberty  of  borrowing  a  ladder  to  get  up 
here.     I  have  had  a  talk  about  it  with  your  son." 

The  painter  here  smiled  pleasantly. 

"  My  son  !  "  exclaimed  the  old  gentleman,  star- 
ing from  the  paint  man  to  his  wife,  and  then  back 
to  the  paint  man  again. 

"  Yes,  your  boy  in  the  grocery  over  there,"  said 
the  painter,  still  smiling,  and  indicating  Merrills's 
place  with  his  finger. 

"  I  ain't  got  any  boy  in  the  grocery  over  there," 
protested  the  old  gentleman,  very  much  perplexed. 

The  paint  man  cut  down  his  smile  one  half,  as 
he  observed,  "Then  you  ain't  the  proprietor  of 
this  house  .-* " 

"Yes,  I  am." 

"  How 's  this  ? "  demanded  the  man  on  the  roof, 
while  the  light,  airy  look  went  out  of  his  face, 


268  THE  MAN  NEXT  DOOR, 

and  left  it  of  a  deathly  and  most  disagreeable 
color.  "  The  young  man  over  at  the  grocery 
said  his  father  lived  here,  and  that  the  roof 
wanted  painting,  and  I  am  the  agent  of  a  new 
paint  for  roofs,  and  so  I  came  over  here,  at  his 
suggestion,  to  take  the  measure  of  the  roof,  so  as 
to  give  the  figures." 

As  the  paint  man  said  this,  he  looked  at  the 
ladder,  and  mechanically  took  in  its  might  and 
size. 

The  owner  of  the  house  looked  at  his  wife. 

"  It 's  young  Bobbs,  over  at  the  grocery;  but  it 
can't  be  him''  she  said. 

Her  husband  turned  to  the  paint  man. 

"That  young  man  over  there  is  not  my  son." 

"  Don't  his  father  own  the  hotel }  "  gasped  the 
owner  of  the  extraordinary  paint. 

"Certainly  not.  He  ain't  got  any  father  ;  he  's 
been  dead  ten  years." 

What  the  introducer  of  a  new  and  valuable  roof 
paint  thought,  as  he  strained  his  tendons  in  lug- 
ging that  ladder  back  home,  was  awful  ;  what  he 
said  was  simply  appalling.  It  is  more  than  likely 
that  had  he  not  been  a  stranger,  with  the  timidity 
inseparable  from  that  relationship,  young  Bobbs 
would  have  been  ground  into  an  indistinguishable 
pulp. 


^ND   OTHER  ESSAYS.  269 


RAILWAY   STATION   SIGHTS. 

The  position  which   a  plug  hat  occupies   in   a 

railway  station  late  at  night  is  no  sinecure.     Not 

by  any  means.     A  January  midnight  in  the  winter 

of    1877  found   a   plug   hat  thus  situated,  in  the 

station    at    Milwaukee.     The   owner   of    this    hat 

was  a  little  man  in  rusty  black  clothes,  just  as 

rusty  as  the  hat  itself.     He  was   short  in  legs, 

short  in  body,    and    short  in   neck ;   but  he   had 

long  hair,  and  a  long  nose,  and  a  long  chin.     His 

hair  was  a  pepper  and  salt,  straight,  thick,  and 

undressed.     It  was  a  short  plug  hat,  with  a  rather 

rakish  brim  of  some  width.     It  was  almost  one 

o'clock.     Some    twenty  people  were  waiting   for 

the  train,  in  that  peculiarly  aimless  way  in  which 

people  wait  for  a  train  late  in  the  night.     There 

were  men  cramped  upon  the  seats,  and  trying  in 

their  sleep  to  do  what  they  never  could  succeed 

in  doing  if  awake,  to  keep  comfortable  in  them. 

There  was  a  man  who  had  a  husky  voice  which 

found  no  expression,  but  I  knew  by  his  clothes, 

and   the   hairy  appearance   of   his  neck,  that  his 

voice   was   husky  ;   he    had    a  big  bundle  on  the 

seat  beside  him,  and  an  humble  valise  between 

his  legs.     He  looked  straight  ahead,  and  neither 

turned  his  eyes  to  the  right  nor  to  the  left.     There 

was  a  youth  with  long,  uncombed  hair,  and  a  timid, 

expressionless  face,  and  a  valise.     He  did  not  sit 


2/0  THE  MAN  NEXT  DOOR, 

down,  but  moved  around  staring  at  the  time-tables 
and  advertisements.  In  a  corner  with  a  lantern 
between  them  were  three  tobacco  chewers  in 
coarse  clothes,  who  were  attachees  of  the  railway, 
and  who  were  talking  in  whispers  about  some- 
thing of  the  most  trivial  nature,  but  which  pos- 
sessed a  deep  and  natural  significance  to  three 
passengers  who  were  straining  their  ears  to  catch 
every  word,  as  is  common  with  men  when  they 
have  got  nothing  of  their  own  to  interest  them. 
Every  few  minutes  some  one  would  come  in,  and 
by  so  doing  attract  the  liveliest  attention  of  every 
one  awake,  and  would  then  go  out  again.  At  reg- 
ular periods  a  man  would  come  in,  — a  man  smell- 
ing of  oil,  —  set  down  a  lantern,  draw  off  a  pair 
of  gloves,  deliberately  look  about  the  room,  put 
on  his  gloves  again,  take  up  his  lantern,  and  dis- 
appear. At  about  the  same  interval  a  tall,  slim 
young  man  in  a  straight,  long,  black  overcoat 
buttoned  up  to  his  neck,  with  a  light  growth  of 
side  whiskers  on  his  face,  a  straight,  emotional 
mouth,  and  calculating  eyes,  —  a  man  about 
twenty-eight  years  old,  but  with  a  face  that  will 
look  no  different  when  he  is  sixty-four, — would 
appear,  stalk  deliberately  around  the  room,  and 
then  disappear,  his  antics  making  one  nervous  by 
their  muffled  precision.  Then  a  short,  thick-set 
man  in  a  short-tailed  coat  came  in,  went  through 
a  side  door,  and  presently  a  glass  slide,  over  which 
were  the  words  "Ticket  Office,"  flew  up,  and  the 
well-kept  face  of  the  short,  thick-set  man  appeared 


AND  OTHER  ESSAYS.  2/1 

at  the  opening,  and  looked  over  the  assembled 
passengers  very  much  as  a  well-to-do  farmer 
would  look  over  a  flock  of  his  sheep. 

All  this  time  the  plug  hat  was  at  work.  The 
owner  of  the  plug,  not  contemplating  taking  a 
sleeper  on  the  coming  train,  had  time  by  the  fore- 
lock, and  was  doing  his  level  best  to  keep  hold. 
Being  a  little  man,  he  got  out  as  far  as  possible  on 
the  edge  of  the  seat,  and  being  a  man  of  digni- 
fied proclivities,  he  instinctively  crossed  his  legs- 
Thus  laying  back,  he  sought  sleep.  The  part 
which  the  plug  hat  took  in  the  performance  was 
most  creditable.  It  was  perched  across  his  fore- 
head, with  a  view,  I  think,  to  shut  out  the  glare 
of  the  gaslight  from  his  eyes.  A  more  uneasy 
plug  hat  never  went  travelling  with  a  well-disposed 
man.  No  sooner  would  he  get  it  located  just 
right,  and  proceed  to  close  his  eyes,  when  it  would 
instantly  tilt  over  to  one  side,  calling  forth  the 
most  surprising  activity  on  his  part  to  save  it  from 
going  to  the  floor.  He  never  lost  his  faith,  or  his 
courage,  or  his  hope.  After  every  failure  he 
would  patiently  replace  it,  close  his  eyes,  and  im- 
mediately dart  after  it  again.  And  thus  he  rested 
and  refreshed  himself. 

Some  people  are  not  fit  to  travel  by  themselves. 
I  think  the  time  will  come  when  railway  stations 
will  be  placarded  to  the  effect  that  "  No  nervous 
person  shall  be  allowed  to  pass  over  this  road  ex- 
cept when  properly  checked  as  luggage,  unless 
accompanied  by  some  competent  person  as  keep- 


2/2  THE  MAN  NEXT  DOOR, 

er."  This  feeling  of  not  knowing  which  is  your 
train,  and,  when  discovered,  not  knowing  when  it 
is  to  start,  is  the  refinement  of  distress,  I  will  ad- 
mit, —  especially  to  helpless  outsiders.  But  peo- 
ple permit  them  to  grow  upon  them.  They  ask 
questions  before  the  questions  are  ready,  and  thus 
they  come  in  such  a  shape  as  not  to  be  understood 
by  the  party  inquired  of.  And  they  have  so  many 
queries  to  propound  that  they  cannot  possibly  keep 
track  of  the  answers,  even  if  the  answers  should 
be  correct.  Consequently  there  is  confusion,  and 
distress,  and  distemper,  and  dyspepsia,  and  other 
consequences  still  more  disastrous.  Every  train 
hauled  into  the  station  at  Cleveland  near  meal- 
hour  stops  there  twenty  minutes  for  refreshment. 
Every  man  who  travels  craves  refreshment.  Eat- 
ing is  an  excellent  way  to  pass  the  time,  and  the 
cars  are  very  much  like  the  Sabbath  in  this  re- 
spect. I  do  not  think  the  human  stomach  is  able 
to  distinguish  a  train  of   cars  from  Sunday. 

On  the  particular  evening  of  which  I  write,  a 
train  from  the  East  drew  into  the  Cleveland  station. 
On  the  front  platform  of  the  first  passenger  car 
stood  a  man  with  a  monstrous  valise  grasped  in 
his  right  hand,  while  the  left  hand  clutched  the 
rail.  There  was  a  look  of  anxiety  blended  with 
expectation  in  his  face.  Just  before  the  train 
stopped  he  jumped  down,  and  hurried  across  to 
the  refreshment-room  and  disappeared  in  the  door. 
The  next  instant  I  saw  through  the  window  that 
he  was  ranged  in  front  of  the  counter,  plying  his 


AND   OTHER  ESSAYS  2/3 

eyes  across  the  spread,  and  fumbling  in  his 
pockets.  Other  passengers  leisurely  got  down 
from  the  cars,  went  into  the  dining-room,  and  sat 
down  to  a  comfortable  supper.  Some  three  min- 
utes passed  when  the  locomotive  bell  smote  the 
air  with  its  dreadful  sound.  The  nervous  passen- 
ger with  the  monstrous  valise  appeared  at  the  door 
with  a  promptness  that  unpleasantly  suggested  he 
was  attached  to  the  bell,  and  was  controlled  by  its 
action.  One  glance  showed  him  that  the  train 
was  moving.  With  a  look  of  horror  overspreading 
that  part  of  his  countenance  not  occupied  by  a 
generous  bite  of  ham  sandwich,  he  flew  across  the 
intervening  space  at  a  speed  that  was  simply  mar- 
vellous, the  valise  making  time  on  his  legs  at  every 
leap.  Reaching  the  car  platform  he  clutched  the 
rail  with  the  hand  containing  the  unfinished  sand- 
wich, and  clambered  upon  his  knees  on  the  plat- 
form, and  darted  into  the  car,  leaving  that  part  of 
the  rail  which  he  had  grasped  neatly  incrusted  with 
a  mixture  of  bread,  ham,  butter,  and  mustard.  He 
settled  down  into  the  seat  with  a  shiver  of  horror, 
somewhat  modified  by  a  sigh  of  relief,  and  hugged 
the  valise  into  his  lap.  Then  the  train  stopped, 
the  locomiotive  moved  away,  the  passengers  finished 
their  supper,  came  outside  and  lighted  their  cigars, 
and  sauntered  up  and  down  the  platform,  while 
the  man  of  the  sandwich  sat  in  the  car  and  looked 
out  of  the  window  upon  those  people,  and  the 
railroad  officials,  and  the  general  scenery,  with 
feelings  too  deep  and  intense  to  permit  of  any 
adequate  expression. 


274  THE    MAN  NEXT  DOOR, 


THE   BOOK   FIEND   AT   HOME. 

It  was  in  the  kitchen  on  the  second  floor  of  a 
Danbury  house.  The  occupants  of  the  room 
itself  indicated  that  it  was  not  an  abode  of  wealth. 

The  husband  and  father  was  a  mechanic  two 
months  out  of  work,  with  no  immediate  prospects 
of  a  resumption  at  his  trade.  He  was  a  light- 
faced  man  with  rounded  shoulders,  thin,  straight 
brown  hair,  and  light  blue  eyes,  with  a  careworn 
expression,  not  entirely  hidden  by  the  look  of 
expectation  which  now  filled  them.  The  woman, 
his  wife,  had  black  hair,  a  pale,  thin  face,  and 
preternaturally  large  black  eyes,  —  handsome  eyes, 
but  very  tired  looking.  They  were  sitting  in  this 
room  because  of  its  fire,  as  the  night  was  damp, 
raw,  and  chilly.  On  the  table  between  them  were 
a  pile  of  circulars  of  an  advertising  nature,  which 
the  two  children  were  admiring  because  of  their 
large  type  and  illustrations.  The  man  ran  his 
hands  through  his  very  thin  hair  on  his  head  for 
the  twentieth  time,  and  said,  — 

"Yes,  sir,  every  book  I  sell  fetches  me  a  dollar. 
If  I  only  sell  five  a  day,  that  will  be  five  dollars. 
Of  course,  there  can  be  no  doubt  of  selling  five." 

Of  course  not.  His  mind  contemplated  a  day's 
round  among  his  townspeople.  He  saw  that  he 
could  in  that  time  visit  at  least  forty  families,  and 
one  of   every  eight   taking   a   book  —  a  book  so 


AND  OTHER  ESSAYS.  2/5 

generally  and  cordially  recommended  —  was  not 
an  exaggerative  freak  of  the  imagination.  On 
the  contrary  —  looking  again  over  the  formidable 
array  of  recommends  —  this  was  a  strikingly  mild 
computation.  There  was  a  twinge  of  regret  that 
he  had  not  taken  the  project  in  hand  long  ago. 

"But  even  three  books,"  said  his  wife,  hope- 
fully, "  would  pay  well.  Or  two  books.  Two 
dollars  a  day  is  a  good  sum." 

The  tired  eyes  looked  around  the  scantily  fur- 
nished room,  over  the  threadbare  clothes  on  her 
family,  down  at  her  own  rusty  garments,  and  then 
grew  rested  again  as  they  contemplated  the  two 
dollars.     It  was  a  very  good  sum  indeed. 

Still,  he  did  not  so  consider  it.  His  eyes  again 
sought  the  list  of  recommends,  and  his  mind  roved 
along  the  route  he  should  take,  including  forty 
visits,  and  he  began  to  think  that  in  fixing  on  five 
sales  a  day  he  had  done  an  injurious  thing.  What 
if  there  were  ten  .-*  It  was  a  pretty  good  leap. 
But  was  it  unreasonable  .''  If  there  were  fifteen 
it  would  be  better.  It  would  be  a  good  joke  if 
he  was,  in  his  highest  flight,  getting  way  below 
the  mark.  And  it  might  possibly  be  so.  A 
smile  unconsciously  crept  into  his  face  as  these 
thoughts  filled  his  mind. 

"  I  ain't  felt  so  encouraged  in  months,"  he  said 
to  his  wife.  "We  have  bemoaned  our  ill-luck, 
but  how  do  we  know  but  that  my  being  thrown 
out  of  work  was  the  best  thing  that  could  happen 
me : 


2^6  THE  MAN  NEXT  DOOR, 

"  I  hope  so,"  said  his  wife.  Poor  woman  !  She 
had  need  of  encouragement.  And  it  was  a  good 
thing  to  see  the  tired  eyes  brighten.  It  was  a  long 
time  since  they  had.  He  looked  into  her  expect- 
ant face,  and  his  own  grew  brighter  under  the 
inspiration.  Presently  he  aroused  himself  with 
the  remark, — 

"Well,  I  must  get  abroad  early  to-morrow 
morning,  as  I  '11  have  a  long  day's  work." 

Whereupon  his  wife  prepared  the  children  for 
bed,  and  pretty  sooii  the  father  and  mother  retired, 
but  hardly  to  sleep. 

At  nine  o'clock  the  next  morning  he  was 
ready  to  start.  There  was  not  as  much  enthu- 
siasm as  on  the  evening  before,  but  that  could 
not  be  expected.  Daylight  is  eminently  more 
practical  than  lamplight.  His  patient  wife  had 
made  his  old  suit  look  really  presentable,  and 
had  prepared  him  a  lunch  of  bread  and  butter  to 
eat  at  noon,  for  he  expected  to  be  too  busy  to 
come  home  to  dinner.  The  lunch  he  carefully 
stowed  away  in  his  pocket,  and  his  canvassing 
books  he  put  under  his  arm.  He  was  hopeful, 
having  just  stimulated  himself  by  another  careful 
glance  at  the  recommends.  Still,  the  expression 
of  weariness  was  there,  and  the  faithful  woman 
who  stood  before- him  looking  into  his  face  saw  it 
more  plainly  than  was  good  for  her.  His  features 
showed  thinner  with  the  sunlight  streaming  upon 
them.  She  saw  in  all  their  lines  the  effects  of  a 
long  sickness  that  had  taken  all  the  earnings,  and 


AND   OTHER   ESSAYS.  2/7 

of  a  brooding  and  worry  that  had  come  from  days 
of  unsuccessful  search  for  work.  From  this  her 
mind  went  back  over  the  years  of  their  wedded 
life,  and  she  saw  in  their  record  a  steady,  uncom- 
plaining fight,  and  a  constant,  tender  love  for  her. 
Then  she  looked  quickly  into  the  careworn  face 
again,  and  by  an  impluse  which  she  could  not 
control,  threw  her  arms  about  his  neck  and  sobbed 
aloud. 

"Lizzie  !"  he  cried,  dropping  the  books  to  fold 
his  arms  about  her. 

She  made  no  reply,  but  only  clung  the  tighter 
to  him. 

With  that  delicacy  of  feeling,  occasionally  found 
among  the  poor  even,  he  stroked  her  hair  in  silence, 
waiting  patiently  for  the  paroxysm  to  pass  away. 
He  had  no  need  to  ask  her  w^hy  she  cried.  Every 
sob  that  convulsed  her  weak  frame  was  eloquent  of 
a  past  full  of  bitter  struggling.  But  it  hurt  him  to 
hear  her,  not  that  he  minded  the  memory,  as  far  as 
it  affected  himself,  but  only  as  it  told  of  her  suf- 
fering. 

"  Oh,  John,"  she  murmured  in  a  broken  voice, 
"  we  are  so  poor,  we  are  so  poor.     God  help  us  !  " 

Then  she  lifted  her  head,  wiped  away  the  tears 
from  her  face,  and  smiled  as  she  did  it,  to  show 
him  that  she  w^as  herself  again. 

Thus  reassured,  he  took  his  books  again,  and 
sallied  forth.  And  the  pitying  husband  was  left 
behind,  and  a  book-canvasser  appeared  instead. 
Striking  off  to  another  part  of  the  town,  his  malig- 


2/8  THE  MAN  NEXT  DOOR, 

nant  presence  soon  darkened  a  doorway.  The 
servant  appeared  in  answer  to  the  summons.  She 
looked  into  his  lean  face,  which,  to  a  prejudiced 
person,  had  a  somewhat  sharkish  aspect,  and  then 
at  the  parcel  under  his  arm,  and  shook  her  head 
in  a  very  depressing  manner. 

"We  don't  want  nothing,"  she  said,  and  care- 
fully closed  the  door.  Owing  to  lack  of  presence 
of  mind  on  his  part,  he  neglected  to  put  his  foot 
in  the  way  and  prevent  the  door  from  being  closed, 
until  he  had  had  his  own  say,  and  thus  the  first 
opportunity  was  lost.  He  sighed,  and  went  to  the 
next  door. 

Here  he  rang  the  bell  twice,  but  there  was  no 
response.     The  occupants  had  seen  him  approach. 

Somewhat  w^eakened  in  faith,  he  went  to  the 
third  house.  The  family  received  him,  thumbed 
over  the  specimen  book,  admired  the  pictures,  and 
said  they  were  not  prepared  to  subscribe  now,  but 
could  tell  better  in  the  spring.  He  had  received 
considerable  strength  and  hope  from  this  recep- 
tion, but  he  left  it  behind  when  he  withdrew. 
He  thought  of  his  waiting  wife  and  children,  and 
instinctively  wiped  something  from  his  eye,  which, 
were  he  not  a  book-canvasser,  might  have  done 
very  well  for  a  tear. 

At  the  fourth  house  a  woman  came  to  the  door, 
gave  him  a  hard  look,  and  immediately  shut  her- 
self in.  Not  a  word  had  been  exchanged.  He 
slowly  retired.  The  next  building  was  a  lumber- 
office.     A  man  wdth  spectacles  was  bent  over  some 


AND   OTHER   ESSAYS,  279 

papers  at  a  desk.  He  looked  up,  and  hearing  the 
canvasser,  detected  at  a  glance  his  mission,  and 
stared  coldly  at  him.  Our  friend  began,  in  a  fal- 
tering voice,  — 

"  I  have  called  to  solicit  your  —  " 

"  That  '11  do,"  said  the  lumber-man,  in  a  stern 
voice,  resuming  his  inspection  of  the  papers  on  the 
desk. 

The  canvasser  gave  him  a  look  as  if  he  would 
like  to  knock  him  endways,  and  then  withdrew. 
Outside  the  building  he  paused  a  moment,  as  if 
undecided  what  to  do.  He  was  strongly  tempted 
to  go  home,  and  give  up  in  despair,  but  the 
thought  of  his  poverty  checked  this  impulse.  He 
looked  up  and  down  the  almost  deserted  street,  on 
which  the  sun  lay  in  a  glare  of  heat.  Not  a  ray 
of  hope  did  he  detect  in  the  buildings  or  in  the 
air.  He  passed  three  houses  without  the  courage 
to  call  on  any  of  them.  Those  who  saw  him  pass 
must  have  wondered  if  he  was  not  ill,  or  deranged. 
At  the  fourth  house  he  stopped.  A  little  girl 
answered  his  call.  She  saw  the  books  under  his 
arm,  and,  taking  the  cue  from  his  appearance, 
said,  — 

"We  don't  want  anything."  And  she,  too, 
closed  the  door  in  his  face.  Smarting  under  the 
humiliation  of  his  defeat,  he  passed  several  houses 
without  calling,  and  brought  up  at  a  factory.  He 
went  through  the  building  to  the  office,  his  feet 
feeling  as  if  full  of  lead,  and  his  heart  scarcely 
lighter.     It  was  only  a  picture  of  the  pale-faced, 


286  THE  MAN  NEXT  DOOR, 

sobbing  woman  at  home  that  gave  him  the  strength 
to  step  at  all.  There  were  several  men  busy  in 
the  long  room  through  which  he  passed.  They 
saw  his  mission,  and  turned  up  their  noses  in  de- 
rision. They  worked  for  their  living,  and  could 
afford  to  despise  the  lank  shirk  who  went  about 
selling  books  and  living  on  the  fat  of  the  land. 
Their  looks  were  not  undetected  by  the  miserable 
man  with  the  picture  of  the  crying  woman  in  his 
heart,  and  he  went  into  the  office  with  an  air  of 
humiliation  not  calculated  to  command  the  respect 
of  the  three  young  clerks  at  work  there.  He  en- 
tered, and  removed  his  hat.  The  three  clerks 
stared  at  him,  but  said  nothing  about  his  being 
seated. 

"I  have  called,  gentlemen,"  he  commenced,  in 
a  voice  he  strove  to  make  firm,  but  which  trembled 
in  spite  of  himself,  "  to  see  if  you  would  like  to 
subscribe  to  a  new  book." 

An  expression  of  dislike  showed  so  plainly  on 
their  faces,  that  he  stopped  short.  The  three 
young  men  enjoyed  this  very  much.  They  came 
very  near  to  being  the  victims  themselves,  but  by 
showing  an  uncompromising  front  they  had  saved 
themselves,  and  overcome  a  nuisance  and  a  bore. 
Highly  satisfied  with  their  success,  they  placidly 
returned  to  their  work,  leaving  him  standing  bare- 
headed, with  an  uninterrupted  view  of  their  backs. 
For  a  moment  he  remained  there,  confused  and 
sick  at  heart,  not  wanting  to  remain,  and  still  not 
having  the  courage  to  go.     But  the  young  men 


AA^D   OTHER  ESSAYS.  28 1 

paid  no  more  attention  to  him,  and,  his  position 
becoming  unbearable,  he  replaced  his  hat  and  slunk 
out  of  the  building.  With  a  heavy  heart  and  a 
tortured  mind  he  went  his  way,  stopping  here  and 
there  with  more  or  less  luck,  but  no  sales.  The 
noon  passed  without  his  lunch.  He  had  not  the 
heart  to  eat  it.  Had  it  been  three  yards  of  lead 
pipe,  he  could  not  have  felt  less  like  bolting  it 
down.  There  was  a  lump  in  his  throat  by  which 
a  cambric  needle  would  have  found  difficulty  in 
forcing  its  way.  He  began  to  notice  that  the  peo- 
ple whom  he  passed  were  eying  him  with  dislike, 
and  giving  him  the  greater  share  of  the  walk.  It 
was  hard  to  be  poor,  it  was  hard  to  be  so  unsuc- 
cessful, but  it  was  ten  times  harder  to  bean  object 
of  derision,  scorn,  distrust,  and  contempt.  He 
started  for  home  with  an  aching  heart.  It  was 
going  back  to  a  full  contemplation  of  his  miser- 
able condition,  but  there  were  love  and  sympathy 
there,  with  all  the  distress,  and  the  miserable  man 
stood  sorely  in  need  of  them. 

When  he  went  in  his  wife  heard  him,  and  came 
into  the  room  where  he  was.  The  look  of  hopeful 
expectation  died  out  of  her  pale  face  in  a  flash. 
One  glance  at  him  told  the  whole  story  more  elo- 
quently than  words  could  have  done.  He  laid 
down  his  books,  shivering  as  he  did  so.  When  he 
went  to  turn  toward  her,  the  loving  arms  were 
about  his  neck,  and  the  tired  head,  with  the  sobbing 
voice,  was  pressed  upon  his  shoulder. 

"Oh,  Lizzie,  it  was  all  so  dreadful!"  he  whis- 
pered. 


282  THE  MAN  NEXT  DOOR, 

She  drew  her  arms  tighter  about  his  neck. 

"Don't  talk  of  it,  John,  You  did  the  best  you 
could,  I  know,  and  if  you  have  failed  you  cannot 
help  it.  We  have  got  each  other,  and  the  children, 
John." 

"Yes,  Lizzie,  but  I  am  not  the  man  I  was  when 
I  left  you  this  morning.  Then  I  was  respected,  if 
I  was  poor." 

"John !"  she  cried  in  an  affrighted  voice,  looking 
him  in  the  face.     "What  have  you  done  .-*  " 

"Nothing,  my  dear  wife,  but  to  try  to  get  bread. 
But  I  have  been  made  to  feel  that  I  was  a  scal- 
awag, a  leper,  an  outcast,  a  scoundrel,  and  a  thief. 
I  have  been  shut  out  of  houses,  bullied  from  shops, 
and  shunned  in  the  street."  He  quivered  in 
every  nerve  as  he  spoke. 

"All  for  my  sake  and  the  children's,  dear  John," 
she  spoke  up,  with  her  eyes  full  of  tears.  "  God 
bless  you!" 

And  in  that  benediction,  so  lovingly  pronounced, 
the  burden  fell  from  his  shoulders. 

The  next  day  he  gave  up  the  agency,  and  the 
following  week  a  man  with  a  soiled  shirt-front  and 
a  breast-pin  took  up  the  work,  and  in  three  days 
had  sold  sixty  volumes  and  gained  two  pounds  in 
flesh. 


AND   OTHER  ESSAYS.  2^1 


MR.    SILVERNAIL'S  TRAGIC   FATE. 

A  RATHER  remarkable  affair  occurred  in  the 
western  part  of  this  State  last  week.  Mr.  Silver- 
nail  was  the  hero.  Mr.  Silvernail  hired  a  horse  to 
take  a  pleasure-ride.  He  drove  out  into  the 
country.  He  wanted  the  companionship  of  the 
hills.  He  thirsted  to  hold  converse  with  the 
whispering  trees.  He  hungered  for  the  cooling 
breeze  laden  with  the  reviving  fragrance  of  herb 
and  blossom.  It  was  an  escape  from  care  for  Mr. 
Silvernail.  He  bathed  his  soul  in  the  delicious 
ether.  His  entire  being  became  saturated  with 
the  nectar  distilled  from  every  swaying  leaf  of 
tree  and  blade  of  grass.  The  horse  was  a  spirited 
animal,  the  carriage  glistened  with  a  new  lustre, 
the  harness  was  silver-plated.  There  was  the 
blessed  consciousness  in  Mr.  Silvernail's  bosom 
that  he  was  approaching  nature  with  no  mean 
pomp.  He  drove  many  miles  in  a  delicious  trance 
of  delight.  He  passed  through  the  shadow  of 
mountains,  and  into  the  sunshine  of  the  plains. 
He  feasted  his  eyes  on  glistening  sheets  of  water, 
cosey,  homelike  farm-houses,  and  fields  of  whisper- 
ing corn. 

The  road  skirted  a  ledge.  Mr.  Silvernail  looked 
up  to  its  summit,  and  felt  a  desire  stir  his  bosom 
to  climb  up  there  for  a  view.  It  was  rarely, 
indeed,  that  Mr.  Silvernail  afforded  the  luxury  of 


284  THE  MAN  NEXT  DOOR, 

a  livery  team  for  a  drive  into  the  country,  and  he 
felt  like  taking  in  all  that  could  be  obtained.  He 
stopped  the  horse,  and  got  out  of  the  carriage. 
He  took  down  the  bars  to  drive  the  horse  into  the 
lot  at  the  foot  of  the  ledge,  for  safety.  The  lower 
bar  did  not  give  away  easily  at  one  end.  Mr. 
Silvernail  worked  it  from  side  to  side,  with  a 
view  to  starting  it.  This  exercise,  with  the  fric- 
tion of  the  rough  wood  on  his  hands,  caused  Mr. 
Silvernail's  blood  to  warm  unpleasantly.  The 
warmth  of  the  blood  inflamed  the  brain,  imparting 
to  Mr.  Silvernail's  mind  a  feeling  of  impatience. 
The  more  impatient  Mr  Silvernail  grew,  the 
more  it  became  apparent  to  him  that  it  was  not 
an  accidental  catch,  but  a  deliberate  design  on 
the  part  of  the  rail  to  resist  him.  When  this 
plausible  conviction  took  complete  possession  of 
his  mind,  Mr.  Silvernail  grasped  his  end  of  the 
rail  with  a  strong  clutch,  and  gave  it  a  vigorous 
jerk. 

As  a  matter  of  course,  it  came  then.  It  came 
all  at  once,  and  with  an  enthusiasm  so  much 
beyond  Mr.  Silvernail's  most  sanguine  expecta- 
tions, that  he  was  entirely  unprepared  for  it,  and 
went  over  on  his  back,  and  across  the  loose  stones 
and  gravel,  with  the  rail  clasped  in  both  arms, 
before  he  could  recover  himself. 

The  horse  started  nervously. 

"Whoa!"  yelled  Mr.  Silvernail,  scrambling  to 
his  feet,  his  face  both  red  with  passion  and  white 
with  fear. 


AND   OTHER  ESSAYS.  285 

The  cry  completed  the  fear  of  the  horse,  and  it 
dashed  away  at  once,  a  seventy-five  dollar  harness 
upon  its  back  and  a  two  hundred  and  fifty  dollar 
carriage  in  its  train. 

The  horrified  Mr.  Silvernail  put  after  it.  He 
strained  every  nerve.  He  ran  as  he  never  ran 
before,  as  he  ever  thought  it  possible  he  could 
run.  He  could  see  only  the  top  of  the  carriage, 
but  across  that,  in  characters  of  blood  it  seemed, 
was  marked  the  price  of  the  establishment. 

How  he  ran !  His  face  was  almost  purple. 
On  its  surface  formed  little  lumps  ;  around  them, 
and  even  over  them,  great  drops  of  perspiration 
coursed  and  leaped.  Down  upon  the  road,  upon 
all  the  earth,  upon  his  bared  head,  lay  the  sun- 
light in  billows  of  molten  gold.  In  his  heart  was 
the  chill  of  a  deadly  fear.  Through  his  brain 
ploughed  the  flame  of  a  frenzied  purpose. 

How  he  reached  out !  How  he  strained  and 
strove !  How  madly  he  fought  the  cruel  air  that 
lay  between  him  and  the  flying  prize ! 

The  water  in  the  glen  trickled  and  gurgled  like 
a  merry  child.  The  trembling  silver  maples  whis- 
pered softly  to  each  other.  The  birds  sang.  The 
hum  of  insect  and  drone  of  bee  mingled  with  the 
rustling  of  the  briers  and  blossoming  weeds. 

Still  he  tore  on.  He  threw  the  gravel  of  the 
road  on  high,  and  heard  not  the  soft,  sweet  music 
all  about  him.  He  puffed  and  clutched  the  air 
with  murderous  grasp,  —  the  air  that  had  him  by 
the  throat,  and  was  fighting  him  back  with  all  its 
strength. 


286  THE  MAN  NEXT  DOOR, 

He  saw  not  the  golden-rod  smiling  brightly  in 
the  sun.  He  noticed  not  the  star-eyed  blossom 
which  from  New  England  soil  lifts  its  face  heaven- 
ward. He  heard  not  the  singing  of  the  birds  or 
the  whisper  of  the  leaves.  He  heard  nothing  but 
the  clatter  of  the  heartless  hoofs.  He  saw  noth- 
ing but  the  reeling  top  of  the  flying  carriage. 

And  he  saw  that  not  long.  It  passed  over  a 
hill  and  out  of  sight.  He  struggled  madly  up  the 
slope.  He  reached  the  summit.  Beyond  him  flew 
the  maddened  animal  with  the  shafts  of  the  car- 
riage slapping  the  ground  behind  at  every  leap. 
The  carriage  itself  lay  almost  at  his  feet,  an  awful 
wreck  of  its  former  self. 

Mr.  Silvernail  stopped  dead  still  just  where  this 
terrible  sight  burst  upon  him.  His  face  was  whit- 
ish purple.  His  eyes  were  inflamed.  His  clothing 
was  torn,  and  where  the  perspiration  had  broken 
through  it  was  splotched  with  dust.  He  shook  all 
over.  His  heart  throbbed  like  the  pulsation  of 
gigantic  machinery.  He  looked  up  to  the  heavens, 
and  then  around  upon  the  earth.  If,  in  that  last 
wild  look,  his  burning  brain  sought  shelter  from 
the  fire  beating  upon  it,  if,  in  that  half-crazed 
stare  into  the  heavens  above  and  down  upon  the 
earth  that  lay  beneath,  his  torn,  distracted  spirit 
sought  an  opening  for  its  escape,  he  found  it  not. 

All  of  life  shut  in  upon  him  and  crowded  him  in 
upon  himself. 

Then  Mr.  Silvernail  reached  around  to  the 
pocket  on  his  hip,  and  placed  the  hand  withdrawn 


A. YD    OTHER   ESSAYS.  287 

against  his  burning,  throbbing  temple.  Instantly 
there  was  a  sharp  report,  but  no  cry,  and  the 
drenched,  palpitating  figure  dropped  from  the  val- 
ley's perspective. 

An  hour  later,  an  old  farmer,  jogging  comfort- 
ably along  with  his  wife,  was  startled  by  her 
scream,  and  following  hurriedly  her  horrified 
glance,  saw,  looking  up  to  him  from  the  road, 
a  purple  face,  and  in  the  dust  at  its  side  a  pool 
of  human  blood. 

Mr.  Silvernail  had  left  the  livery-stable  keeper 
to  gather  up  the  remnants  of  the  property,  and  his 
heirs  to  fight  the  livery-stable  keeper. 


LIFE  AT  THE  TABLE. 

A  WRITER  in  one  of  the  magazines  advocates  a 
reform  in  the  home  circle.  He  says  there  are 
parents  who  are  the  life  of  every  company  they 
enter,  but  at  home  are  dull  and  silent.  If  they 
have  not  mental  stores  sufficient  for  both  places, 
he  recommends  that  they  give  home  the  prefer- 
ence. A  silent  home,  he  says,  is  a  dull  place  for 
young  people,  from  which  they  will  escape  if  they 
can  ;  but  how  much  of  unconscious  but  excellent 
mental  training  is  given  in  lively,  social  argument ! 

The  magazine  containing  this  essay  fell  into  the 
hands  of  Mr.   Barbary,  the  other  morning.     Mr. 


288  THE  MAN  NEXT  DOOR, 

Barbary  keeps  a  store,  and  has  a  family  consisting 
of  a  wife  and  two  children,  equally  divided  among 
the  sexes.  It  was  a  rainy,  sloppy,  dreary  day,  and 
the  store  was  empty  of  customers.  Mr.  Barbary 
sat  at  his  desk,  with  the  open  book  before  him, 
and  his  mind  pondering  over  the  article.  Busi- 
ness cares  had  pressed  heavily  upon  him  in  the 
past  year,  tending  to  dull  his  entertaining  facul- 
ties by  turning  every  channel  of  thought  into 
his  business.  He  had  been  quick  at  his  meals, 
absorbed  in  store  matters,  and  filled  with  gloom  of 
anticipated  trouble.  As  he  read  and  pondered 
over  this  article,  its  truth  was  forced  upon  him. 
He  had  been  wrong  in  the  past.  He  was  not  just 
to  himself,  and  certainly  not  to  his  children. 
These  were  not  pleasant  reflections  fo  Mr.  Bar- 
bary, for  he  was  very  proud  of  his  children.  They 
were  growing  up  in  a  depressing  atmosphere.  He 
was  making  a  dull  home  for  them.  He  looked 
around  the  empty  store  and  through  the  window 
into  the  dark,  deserted  street.  It  was  a  gloomy 
spectacle.  He  felt  its  influence  weighing  upon 
his  spirits,  and  then  came  the  thought  to  him  that 
this  was  but  a  type  of  what  he  was  making  his 
home  day  by  day.     Mr.  Barbary  shivered. 

"I'll  do  different  than  this,"  he  said,  smiting 
his  hands  together.  "  I  '11  commence  this  very 
day." 

As  he  said  it  the  noon  whistles  sounded,  and  he 
prepared  to  go  to  his  dinner. 

On  the  way  home  he  conned  over  in  his  mind  a 


AND   OTHER  ESSAYS.  289 

suitable  subject  for  a  lively,  soci^  ar<^ument  with 
his  wife.  There  was  an  abundance  of  topics  sug- 
gested, but  they  were  not  all  suitable  for  the  men- 
tal sustenance  of  his  boy  and  girl.  It  must  be 
something  that  could  be  taken  within  the  calibre 
of  their  minds,  and  something  that  would  improve 
as  well  as  entertain.  Mr.  Barbary  thought  very 
hard  upon  this  matter.  There  were  the  Silver 
Bill,  and  the  Indian  business,  and  the  civil  service, 
and  temperance,  and  ceramics,  and  a  host  of  other 
things,  —  political,  social,  and  scientific,  — but  noth- 
ing that  struck  him  just  right.  Mr.  Barbary  grew 
more  and  more  absorbed,  and  bent  his  brain  rig- 
idly toward  the  point  in  hand,  but  nothing  would 
come  of  it.  As  Mr.  Barbary  had  a  note  for  three 
hundred  and  eighteen  dollars  due  at  the  bank  at 
three  o'clock,  and  had  but  seventy-eight  dollars 
and  ninety-two  cents  toward  it,  perhaps  the  prob- 
lem as  to  where  the  two  hundred  and  forty  dollars 
and  eight  cents  were  to  come  from  may  have  had 
a  tendency  to  impair  the  free  flow  of  his  thought. 
However  this  might  be,  he  approached  his  home 
without  having  selected  a  proper  subject  for  lively, 
social  argument.  Mr.  Barbary  need  not  have  taken 
all  this  trouble  in  preparation.  A  subject  was  in 
waiting  in  embryo  for  him.  There  was  no  lack 
of  subjects,  as  it  afterward  transpired.  As  in 
many  other  pursuits,  that  which  we  have  looked 
for  afar  off  is  subsequently  discovered  to  have 
been  right  under  our  hand. 

Mr.  Barbary  entered  the  house  with  a  strong 

19 


290  THE  MAN  NEXT  DOOR, 

determination  to  inaugurate  a  reform,  although  he 
was  not  at  all  certain  as  to  the  steps  leading  up  to 
it.  Mrs.  Barbary  was  laying  the  table  as  he  en- 
tered. There  was  a  smile  on  his  face.  A  smile 
got  up  for  the  occasion,  and  quite  a  success  in  its 
way.  Mrs.  Barbary  saw  the  smile  on  her  hus. 
band's  face.  At  the  same  time  she  detected 
something  else.  In  fact,  it  may  be  said  that  Mrs. 
Barbary  took  in  both  extremes  of  his  person  at 
once.  She  was  a  tired  woman,  as  women  are  apt 
to  be  at  this  hour.     She  said,  — 

"  What  on  earth  do  you  mean,  lugging  in  a 
bushel  of  mud  into  the  house  .-*  Can't  you  see  the 
mat,  or  are  you  blind  .''" 

Now  Mr.  Barbary  could  have  seen  the  mat,  and 
would  have  seen  and  used  it,  had  not  his  mind  been 
so  closely  engrossed  in  seeking  for  a  topic  for  a  lively 
social  argument.  He  was  conscious  that  he  had  done 
no  wrong  ;  still  he  felt  that  he  might  consistently 
give  up  the  smile,  as  it  appeared  to  be  of  no  par- 
ticular use  at  the  present  juncture.  So  his  face 
straightened  as  he  stepped  hastily  back  on  the 
stoop  to  cleanse  his  boots. 

"  Sakes  alive  !  why  don't  you  shut  that  door  .-' " 
screamed  Mrs.  Barbary. 

"What's  the  use  of  yelling  like  that.''"  he 
demanded,  as  he  stepped  inside  and  closed  the 
door. 

"What 's  the  use  of  being  so  stupid,  then  } "  she 
retorted. 

Mr.   Barbary  made   no   reply.     The    smile   had 


AND    OTIfER   ESSAYS.  29 1 

gone  entirely  from  his  face.  Her  eyes  snapped. 
Mr.  Barbary  looked  at  her,  and  silently  rubbed 
his  head.  He  was  evidently  reaching  out  for 
something  suitable  for  a  lively,  social  argument, 
without  being  strongly  buoyed  up  with  a  hope  of 
securing  it.  The  boy  and  girl  were  sitting  back 
of  the  stove  looking  stolidly  at  nothing  in  partic- 
ular. Their  young  lives  were  drifting  slowly  but 
surely  into  an  arid  waste.  Mr.  Barbary  sighed. 
If  he  could  only  think  of  something  !  He  fell  to 
thinking  of  the  railroad,  and  this  led  his  mind  on 
to  New  York.  There,  like  many  another  comer, 
it  lost  itself  in  the  whirl  of  sounds  and  the  multi- 
plicity of  objects,  finally  to  emerge  with  great 
suddenness.  Mr.  Barbary  had  struck  a  subject,  — 
something  for  a  lively,  social  argument.  Float- 
ing over  the  city,  diving  through  here  and  out  of 
there,  Mr.  Barbary's  mind  ran  against  East  River 
Bridge.     His  face  brightened  up  at  once. 

"  Matilda  !  "  he  exclaimed,  addressing  his  wife. 

"  Well." 

It  was  a  very  simple  word,  but  it  came  from  his 
wife's  lips  so  short  and  hard,  that  Mr.  Barbary  felt 
as  if  it  were  a  trip-hammer  under  which  he  had 
mysteriously  got  himself.  His  courage  sank,  but 
a  glance  at  the  blank  faces  of  his  children  nerved 
him  up  for  the  trial. 

"  Do  you  know  what  I  was  just  thinking  of .''  " 

"I  know  what  you  wa'n't  thinking  of,  and  that 's 
of  more  consequence,"  she  said.  "You  wa'n't 
thinking  that  there  's  a  scuttle  of  coal  to  get." 


292  THE  MAN  NEXT  DOOR, 

With  a  groan,  Mr.  Barbary  seized  the  scuttle 
and  bolted  down  to  the  cellar  after  the  coal.  The 
occupation  served,  in  a  measure,  to  restore  his 
composure,  and  when  he  returned  he  was  ready, 
although  in  a  modified  spirit,  to  take  up  the  topic. 

"I  was  thinking,  Matilda  —  " 

"Well,  get  down  to  the  table,  and  let's  finish 
dinner,"  unceremoniously  broke  in  Mrs.  Barbary. 
"  I  've  got  a  pile  of  work  to  do  this  afternoon." 

Mr.  Barbary  stumbled  into  his  place  in  a  sort  of 
maze,  as  if  the  East  River  Bridge  had  suddenly 
risen  and  hit  him  on  the  back  of  the  head.  He 
actually  gasped  as  he  dropped  into  the  chair.  But 
Mrs.  Barbary  did  not  notice  him.  She  poured  the 
coffee  in  a  spiteful  way,  and  when  this  was  done, 
she  said,  — 

"  Did  you  order  the  kindlings  V 

"  I  declare,  I  forgot  all  about  it." 

"Humph!  you'd  forget  your  head  if  it  was  n't 
screwed  on,"  commented  Mrs.  Barbary. 

This  stung  Mr.  Barbary.  For  a  moment  he  laid 
down  the  East  River  Bridge,  and  faced  the  emer- 
gency. 

"  Don't  you  suppose  I  've  got  something  else  to 
think  of  besides  kindlings.'" 

"There,  lose  your  temper,  why  don't  you  !  "  re- 
torted the  injured  companion  of  his  joys  and  sor- 
rows. 

"Well,  what  's  the  use  of  your  throwing  things 
in  my  face.-*"  Mr.  Barbary  was  thinking  of  his 
note,  and  he  felt  goaded  unto  desperation.    "  You  've 


AND   OTHER  ESSAYS.  293 

always  got  something  to  jaw  over.  I  never  saw 
such  a  spitfire  as  you  are  getting  to  be."  This 
was  a  grave  reflection  to  cast,  but  Mr.  Barbary 
was  getting  frenzied.  He  cared  no  more  for  the 
East  River  Bridge  than  he  did  for  a  one-eyed 
Hottentot. 

"  Well,  you  're  polite,  I  must  say,"  observed 
Mrs.  Barbary,  with  lofty  sarcasm 

Mr.  Barbary  started  up  from  the  table,  exasper- 
ated beyond  the  bounds  of  reason. 

"A  man  might  as  well  eat  in  Tophet,  as  to  eat 
here,"  he  savagely  asserted,  as  he  got  into  his  coat. 
"  I  was  going  to  tell  you  about  something,  but  now 
I  '11  be  hanged  if  I  do,  and  the  children  may  drift 
into  idiocy,  for  all  I  care  ! " 

And  he  rushed  out  of  the  house,  slammmg  the 
door  with  such  force  as  to  make  the  dishes  rattle, 
and  leaving  Mrs.  Barbary  appalled  by  the  dark 
mystery  of  his  closing  words. 

There  is  no  doubt  that  Mr.  Barbary  meant  well. 
His  mistake  was,  we  think,  in  failing  to  secure  in 
advance  the  co-operation  of  his  wife. 


HOW  MR.    COVILLE   TOOK   IN   THE   PICNIC. 

The  Sunday  school  of  the  church  which  the 
Covilles  attend  had  its  picnic  Thursday.  Mr. 
Coville  did  not  care  to  go,  and  would  have  refused 


294  THE  MAN  NEXT  DOOR, 

his  presence  on  the  occasion,  had  not  Mrs.  Coville 
bitterly  asserted  that  she  never  went  anywhere, 
but  had  always  slaved  her  life  out,  and  was  always 
opposed  when  she  wanted  to  take  the  least  enjoy- 
ment, as  if  she  was  nothing  but  a  common  drudge, 
as  she  had  been  all  her  days,  and  expected  to  be 
as  long  as  she  lived,  but  thanked  heaven  there  was 
rest  in  the  grave.  Then  Mr.  Coville  collapsed,  and 
said  he  would  go.  And  all  during  the  day  before 
the  picnic  Mrs.  Coville  baked  and  roasted,  fumed 
and  perspired,  and  when  night  came  she  had 
cake,  pudding,  pie,  biscuit,  and  meats  in  tempt- 
ing array  for  the  excursion  of  the  morrow.  She 
went  to  bed  early  that  night,  so  as  to  get  up  early, 
and  at  the  first  streak  of  daylight  she  bounced  out 
of  bed,  and  notified  her  sleeping  husband  that  it 
was  broad  daylight,  and  if  he  did  not  turn  out  at 
once  they  would  miss  the  train.  As  it  was  then 
not  five  o'clock,  and  the  excursion  did  not  start  till 
ten,  the  necessity  for  intemperate  haste  did  not 
become  immediately  clear  to  the  half-awakened 
man,  and  in  a  moment  he  was  sound  asleep. 
There  were  four  distinct  awakenings  before  he 
could  be  got  out  of  bed,  and  by  that  time  Mrs. 
Coville  was  in  a  condition,  using  her  own  beauti- 
ful figure  of  speech,  "to  flood  the  house  with 
lears."  When  Mr.  Coville  got  dressed,  he  found 
that  he  had  just  two  and  a  half  hours  to  eat  his 
breakfast,  go  down  town  to  arrange  business 
for  the  day,  and  get  several  articles  for  the 
picnic,  which  should  have  been  procured  the  night 


AND   OTHER  ESSAYS.  295 

before,  but  which  had  been  pleasantly  left  to  this 
time. 

After  breakfast  he  went  to  the  store.  Mr. 
Coville  is  so  constructed  physically,  as  to  easily 
perspire.  This  he  wished  to  avoid  on  this  day. 
He  knew  by  experience  that  sweaty  underclothing 
is  a  deplorable  sensation,  and  that  a  starched  shirt- 
front  wilted  under  the  juices  of  the  body  is  about 
as  desirable  an  object  under  one's  coat  as  a  fresh 
eel  would  be.  Calmness  was  to  be  his  watchword 
to-day.  Danbury  will  never  forget  the  sultriness 
of  that  Thursday.  The  heat  was  oppressive.  It 
came  down  in  layers,  each  succeeding  layer  being 
thicker  and  heavier  than  its  predecessor.  Mr. 
Coville  hastened  to  his  store,  found  more  to  do 
than  he  anticipated  (as  invariably  happens),  and 
by  the  time  he  was  ready  for  the  errands  he  was  in 
an  advanced  state  of  melting.  He  was  surprised 
at  the  number  of  things  to  get,  and  at  the  progress 
of  time,  which  always  moves  faster  when  one  is  not 
looking  at  it. 

By  the  time  he  got  home  he  felt  the  starch  in 
his  shirt  begin  to  give,  and  this  created  a  feeling 
of  uneasiness  which  was  somewhat  deepened  by 
the  aspect  of  the  two  huge  baskets  which  stood 
in  waiting  for  them. 

There  was  no  time  for  general  remarks;  so 
merely  observing,  — 

"Thunder  and  lightning,  Hanner  !  we  a'n't  going 
to  Nicsic!"  he  picked  up  the  baskets  and  hastened 
to  the  depot,  reaching  there  just  in  time  to  get 


296  THE  MAN  NEXT  DOOR, 

aboard  of  the  train.  The  cars  were  crowded.  Mr. 
Coville  could  get  no  seat,  and  in  this  particular  he 
had  plenty  of  company.  He  put  a  basket  under 
each  of  two  seats,  and  then  taking  a  strong  grip 
on  the  ice-water  tank  (which,  singularly  enough, 
contained  water  of  no  kind),  braced  himself  for 
the  ride.  In  this  position  he  was  pinned  in  back 
of  the  door  by  the  voluminous  skirts  of  a  fleshy 
lady,  and  every  time  the  door  was  opened,  which 
was  about  twice  a  minute,  he  was  jammed  farther 
into  the  corner.  Mrs.  Coville  was,  unfortunately, 
located  at  the  farther  end  of  the  car.  We  say 
unfortunately,  because  having  much  to  communi- 
cate to  Mr.  Coville  in  regard  to  the  location  of 
the  baskets,  the  condition  of  his  shirt,  the  loca- 
tion of  William,  who  had  not  been  seen  since  the 
start,  the  possibilities  of  ever  getting  to  the 
grounds  without  an  accident,  the  dreadful  heat  in 
the  air,  and  much  more  of  equal  importance,  it 
necessitated  considerable  impotent  pantomime  and 
extraordinary  exertion  on  her  part  to  convey  it  to 
him  over  such  distance. 

And  it  may  be  doubted  if  Mr.  Coville  compre- 
hended enough  of  this  information  to  have  paid 
for  its  outlay.  What  with  holding  on  to  the  ice- 
water  tank,  and  dodging  the  door,  and  restraining 
himself'  from  tumbling  flat  upon  the  fleshy  lady, 
and  staring  vindictively  at  the  back  of  the  heads 
of  the  openers  of  the  door,  Mr.  Coville  had  his 
mind  and  muscle  fully  occupied.  To  add  to  the 
intense  interest  of  the  occasion,  the  perspiration 


AND   OTHER  ESSAYS.  ^97 

rolled  in  cantinuous  drops  from  his  face  ana  down 
his  neck,  and  he  having  no  unemployed  hand  by 
which  with  a  handkerchief  to  stay  the  current,  the 
same  slipped  quietly  inside  his  collar  and  went 
crawling  down  the  sensitive  surface  of  his  body. 

In  the  mean  time  William,  having  provided  him- 
self with  a  bladder  attached  to  a  tube,  which,  when 
blown  up,  collapsed  with  a  most  dismal  sound, 
was  in  the  baggage-car  with  the  peaches  and  an- 
other boy,  where  the  bladder  and  the  inviting 
openings  to  the  crates  made  the  hours  golden  with 
sunshine  to  his  appreciative  soul.  This  was  a 
much  different  disposition  of  his  person  than  his 
mother  imagined,  who,  having  become  confident 
that  he  had  got  under  the  cars  in  the  start,  was 
now  firmly  convinced  that  he  had  been  run  over 
by  the  wheels,  and  that  portions  of  his  mangled 
body  might  now  be  observed  along  the  track  by 
any  one  taking  the  trouble  to  look  for  them.  This 
was  a  dreadful  frame  of  mind  to  go  to  a  picnic  in, 
yet,  after  all,  it  was  much  better  than  to  have  no 
feeling  at  all,  and  so  Mrs.  Coville  hugged  the  ap- 
palling delusion  with  as  much  tenacity  as  if  it  had 
been  Mr.  Colville  himself,  before  marriage. 

Arriving  at  the  grounds,  Mr.  Coville  found  that 
his  anxiety  to  get  there  was  replaced  by  a  most 
unaccountable  regret  that  he  had  got  there.  The 
movement  of  the  passengers,  to  say  nothing  of 
the  movement  of  Mrs.  Coville's  sunshade,  which 
she  was  vigorously  shaking  at  him  over  the  heads 
of  the  people,  awakened  him  to  the  propriety  of 


298  THE  MAN  NEXT  DOOR, 

immediatc-y  securing  his  baskets.  He  made  a 
dive  for  the  same,  but  owing  to  the  rush,  at  the 
same  time,  of  the  passengers,  he  was  considerably 
retarded,  and  it  was  with  the  greatest  difficulty 
that  he  succeeded  in  getting  hold  of  his  charge. 
With  a  basket  in  each  hand,  he  found  himself 
hemmed  in  by  the  masses,  who  pressed  his  refresh- 
ments against  his  legs,  and  came  very  near  to  up- 
setting him  entirely  several  times.  Panting,  but- 
ting, struggling,  and  squeezing,  he  finally  found 
himself  on  the  platform  outside,  but  so  bruised 
and  wet,  and  heated  and  exasperated,  that  he 
hardly  knew  whether  he  was  escorting  two  baskets 
or  two  buzz-saws.  Under  the  guidance  of  Mrs. 
Coville,  who  had  been  greatly  relieved,  although 
very  much  astonished,  by  a  view  of  William  in  a 
single  unbroken  piece,  Mr.  Coville  pierced  the 
grounds,  and  got  to  a  table,  where  he  was  per- 
mitted to  deposit  his  load. 

The  worry,  bother,  and  annoyance  being  over, 
the  full  enjoyment  of  the  day  began.  It  was  a 
happy  sight.  The  children  romped  and  laughed 
and  holloed  ;  the  older  people  moved  quickly  here 
and  there,  distributing  the  food  upon  the  tables, 
and  making  arrangements  for  cooking  tea  and 
coffee ;  lovers  paired  off,  and  strolled  away  in 
happy  oblivion.  It  was  a  scene  of  unalloyed 
enjoyment ;  and  as  Mr.  Coville  looked  about  him 
and  sighed  for  a  dry  shirt,  he  thought  of  his  child- 
hood. 

Presently  he   was    sent   after  a  pail  of  water. 


AND   OTHEB  ESSAYS.  299 

Even  he  admitted  that  water  was  a  prime  neces- 
sity in  the  performance,  but  was  not  as  clear  in 
regard  to  where  it  was  to  come  from,  being  an  en- 
tire stranger  to  the  place.  But  after  a  long  search, 
complicated  by  the  advice  of  parties  equally  ig- 
norant with  himself,  he  hit  upon  the  happy  idea 
of  secluding  himself  for  a  suitable  length  of  time, 
and  then  returning  after  some  one  else  had  done 
the  errand.  With  this  view  Mr.  Coville  looked 
about,  and  soon  found  a  little  dell  in  a  clump  of 
evergreens,  where  he  was  pretty  sure  to  be  free 
from  observation.  Here  he  secluded  himself  and 
the  pail,  and  removing  his  hat,  coat,  and  vest, 
calmly  and  peacefully  waited  for  the  necessary 
time  to  elapse. 

In  the  general  excitement  his  absence  was  not 
noted,  and  his  plan  worked  admirably.  Other 
parties,  sent  out  on  a  similar  errand,  returned 
with  a  supply,  and  this  tended  to  obliterate  from 
even  Mrs.  Coville's  mind  the  cause  of  her  hus- 
band's absence.  Otherwise  she  might  have  come 
to  suspect  that  he  had  found  a  well,  and  was  sit- 
ting on  its  bottom  with  a  view  to  holding  it  for 
the  exclusive  use  of  his  church. 

So  while  the  preparations  were  going  actively 
forward  for  dinner,  he  was  lying  on  his  back, 
looking  up  into  the  dense  mass  of  green,  listening 
to  the  soft  sound  of  the  swaying  branches,  and 
smiling  kindly  but  firmly  to  himself. 

Mrs.  Coville  was  very  busy  in  setting  the  tables. 
Occasionally  she  caught  a  glimpse  of  her  hopeful 


300  THE  MAN  NEXT  DOOR, 

son,  who  swooped  down  upon  her  so  frequently 
with  either  some  new  kind  of  eatable  in  his  fist,  or 
in  quest  of  something  of  the  kind,  that  his  mother 
began  to  apprehend  that  he  not  only  had  a  tape- 
worm of  his  own,  but  had  borrowed  a  much  larger 
and  more  active  one  of  some  other  boy  for  the 
occasion. 

Mr.  Coville  was  looking  up  to  the  overhanging 
branches  of  his  retreat.  There  was  no  smile  on 
his  face.  The  eyes,  directed  upward,  had  a 
strange,  startled  appearance.  He  jumped  to  his 
feet,  rubbed  his  eyes,  then  his  head,  and  stared 
about  him  in  a  very  hard  manner.  He  snatched 
up  his  hat,  coat,  and  vest,  and  the  pail,  and  started 
out  into  the  open  air.  Here  he  paused  a  moment, 
to  look  around,  as  if  to  get  the  bearings  of  the 
place.  In  reaching  the  dell  he  had  gone  in  nu- 
merous directions,  and  was  now  at  a  loss  to  deter- 
mine the  right  way  back.  There  was  a  feeling  in 
the  atmosphere  as  if  something  of  morhent  had 
taken  place,  or  was  about  to  be  precipitated. 
Oppressed  by  a  fear  that  he  could  scarcely  define, 
he  hurried  forward.  Despite  this  nameless  dread 
in  his  heart,  he  was  aware  that  the  cravings  of 
unappeased  hunger  were  strong  upon  him,  and  he 
felt  a  tinge  of  reproach  for  having  murmured  at 
the  supply  of  food  his  faithful  wife  had  prepared. 
As  fast  as  his  size  would  permit  he  hurried  for- 
ward, without  thinking  to  put  on  the  coat  and  vest. 
Suddenly  he  came  upon  the  tables,  but  they  were 
bare.    A  shooting  sensation  of  pain  passed  through 


AND   OTHER  ESSAYS.  30 1 

his  soul,  while  the  pit  of  his  stomach  experienced 
a  shock  which  nearly  deprived  him  of  all  power  of 
motion.  Rallying  in  a  moment,  he  dashed  madly 
to  the  front,  dropping  the  pail  in  his  fright,  and 
came  out  of  the  grove  in  sight  of  the  railroad,  and 
at  the  same  time  in  sight  of  the  loaded  train  mov- 
ing slowly  away. 

Then  the  dreadful  truth  flashed  upon  him  with 
sickening  force.  The  change  in  the  atmosphere, 
which  he  had  experienced  on  coming  out  of  the 
dell,  was  due  to  the  advance  of  the  day.  It  was 
now  six  o'clock,  and  he  had  been  asleep  all  the 
afternoon. 

Yelling  with  all  the  strength  his  breath  would 
permit,  he  tore  down  the  path.  No  one  heard  him. 
The  momentum  of  the  train  was  increasing.  His 
agony  was  dreadful.  The  atmosphere  threatened 
to  suffocate  him.  The  perspiration  nearly  blinded 
him.  Yell  after  yell  he  emitted,  as  he  plunged 
after  the  excursion.  When  about  to  give  up  in 
despair,  his  cry  was  heard.  The  train  was  stopped, 
and  the  unhappy  man,  more  than  two  thirds  ex- 
pired, reached  the  hind  car,  and  was  dragged  up 
into  it  a  pulpy,  gasping,  shrinking  mass  of  flesh. 

What  Mrs.  Coviile  thought,  and  what  the  pas- 
sengers thought  as  they  stared  at  him,  was  evi- 
dent enough  from  the  expressions  of  their  faces 
and  their  speech  ;  but  what  Mr.  Coviile  himself 
thought,  as  he  shrank  into  a  corner  of  the  car,  was 
difficult  to  determine,  although  there  must  have 
been  a  great  deal  of   it.     He  said    nothing,   but 


302  THE  MAN  NEXT  BOOK, 

there  was  a  look  of  sickening  apprehension  to  his 
face,  giving  it  a  greenish  hue,  which  color  remained 
unchanged  during  the  journey,  except  when  Wil- 
liam unexpectedly  observed  to  his  mother,  in  that 
penetrating  whisper  adopted  by  a  boy  who  has 
something  of  a  confidential  and  highly  disagree- 
able nature  to  impart,  "■  Dont  pa  look  hungry?" 
Then  the  tint  visibly  deepened. 

With  a  discretion  that   did  her  infinite  credit, 
Mrs,    Coville  made  no  response. 


RAILWAY  FEATURES  IN  THE   WEST. 

Did  you  ever  notice  how  rarely  it  is  that  a  rail- 
way employe,  always  excepting  the  brakeman, 
loses  his  life  in  an  accident  ?  I  believe  it  is  not  on 
record  that  a  train-boy  was  ever  injured.  When, 
at  the  station  at  Buffalo,  a  gentleman  pointed  out 
a  boy  with  an  assuring  face  as  the  train-boy  on  the 
fatal  Ashtabula  train,  I  was  not  surprised  that 
he  showed  no  evidence  of  the  accident,  although 
he  went  down  in  the  smoking-car,  and  was  sitting 
by  the  stove  at  the  time.  When  the  debris  struck 
the  ice  he  smashed  out  a  light  of  glass,  and  spirit- 
edly ejected  himself  from  the  burning  car.  And 
here  he  was  now,  taking  offensive  liberties  with  the 
passengers. 

A  train-boy  on  an  Illinois  road  found  a  rather 


AND    OTHER   ESSAYS.  303 

tough  customer  in  an  old  gentleman  of  composed 
mien,  who  received  all  shots  as  if  he  was  bullet- 
proof. The  boy  bombarded  him  with  papers,  and 
pamphlets,  and  candies,  and  bound  books,  and 
nuts,  and  fruits  of  one  kind  and  another.  But  it 
was  no  good.  Had  the  elderly  party  been  lined 
inside  with  brass  he  could  not  have  shown  greater 
indifference.  The  boy  fretted  under  this  treat- 
ment, as  was  plain  to  be  seen.  He  had  passed 
the  cigars  some  thirty  times,  and  without  success, 
when  he  said,  in  a  tone  of  desperation,  — 

"Try  some  of  these  cigars,  and  if  they  don't 
kill  you  within  a  month  I  '11  give  you  the  money 
back." 

The  man  was  somewhat  amused  by  that,  but  he 
had  the  boy.     He  said,  — 

"  If  I  'm  dead  how  can  you  give  me  the 
money  .'* " 

"I'll  give  it  to  your  family,  then." 

"  But  I  ain't  got  no  family." 

"Well,  I  '11  give  it  to  the  family  next  door,"  per- 
sisted the  boy. 

"But  there  ain't  no  family  living  next  door," 
said  the  man,  with  the  smile  lengthening  on  his 
face. 

"  Oh,  there  '11  be  one  move  in  when  they  hear 
you  are  dead,"  was  the  quick  reply. 

The  elderly  passenger  shut  up  like  a  borrowed 
knife. 

I  think  a  train-boy  on  a  Minnesota  road,  in 
whose   company    I    recently   whiled   away    seven 


304  THE  MAN  NEXT  DOOR, 

hours,  is  the  most  enterprising  boy  I  have  yet  met 
in  this  country.  He  had  a  wonderful  variety  of 
things  to  sell,  and,  being  active  on  his  legs,  and 
there  being  but  two  cars  to  the  train,  he  got 
around  with  startling  frequency.  He  had  an  in- 
sinuating way,  and  a  somewhat  impaired  breath, 
to  say  nothing  of  several  front  teeth  which  had 
evidently  gone  out  of  business  years  ago,  and 
were  now  enriching  the  soil  for  another  growth. 

At  one  of  the  Mississippi  towns  there  got  in  a 
passenger  who  appeared  to  be  disposed  to  mind 
his  own  business,  and  had  that  in  his  presence 
which  might  induce  thoughtful  companions  to  at- 
tend to  theirs.  He  took  a  seat  opposite  mine,  and 
cast  his  eyes  down  upon  his  knees.  We  were  in 
the  smoking-car.  The  train-boy  was  at  his  box  at 
the  end  of  the  car.  The  lid  to  the  box  was  up, 
and  he  was  head-first  in  the  box,  the  two  back  but- 
tons to  his  coat,  the  cloth  being  worn  from  the 
metallic  bases,  looming  up  above  the  lid  like  a  pair 
of  all-devouring  eyes.  He  saw  the  stranger,  of 
course,  when  he  came  in  and  took  his  seat,  and 
every  two  or  three  seconds  he  would  lift  his  head 
from  the  box,  peer  over  the  lid  at  him  with  a  hun- 
gering glance,  and,  smacking  his  lips  anticipatively, 
would  dip  down  again  to  arrange  his  ammunition. 
I  watched  the  preparation  with  lively  interest,  not 
unmingled  with  sympathy  for  the  stranger,  who 
was  sitting  as  when  he  took  the  seat.  The  train- 
boy  got  his  artillery  arranged,  and  deployed  off  with 
the  light  guns.     These  consisted  of  a  basket  of 


AND   OTHER  ESSAYS.  305 

figs.  He  approached,  confident  of  his  prey.  Just 
then  the  stranger  looked  up  and  saw  him  coming. 
Opening  his  coat,  he  reached  under  its  folds  and 
drew  forth  a  rather  heavy  revolver.  Laying  it  on 
the  seat  beside  him  in  full  view  of  the  enemy,  he 
looked  him  steadily  in  the  face  and  said,  — 

"I  don't  want  to  buy  a  thing,  not  a  single  arti- 
cle, my  friend." 

His  "friend"  gave  a  quick,  sudden  gulp,  as  if 
swallowing  something  particularly  difficult,  and 
slid  by. 

The  stranger  dropped  his  eyes  again  upon  his 
knees,  and  had  no  occasion  to  raise  them  until 
leaving  the  train. 

The  travelling  lunk-head  in  the  East  has  an 
older  and  much  more  fully  developed  brother  in 
the  West.  He  is  generally  to  be  found  on  slow 
trains ;  such,  for  instance,  as  consist  of  freight 
with  a  passenger-car  attached.  You  would  think 
he  had  travelled  for  the  greater  part  of  his  life,  to 
hear  him  talk.  He  is  full  of  facetious  observa- 
tions on  the  speed,  which  he  discharges  in  the 
presence  of  the  conductor,  and  which  are  heartily 
laughed  at  by  the  lunk-head  family.  He  should 
be  taken  by  the  heels  and  used  to  drive  piles  in  a 
quagmire,  and  would  be,  had  he  anything  of  a 
head. 

You  can  pretty  generally  tell  when  you  have 
skipped  outside  the  conventionalities  of  life,  by 
the  appearance  of  the  railway  officials.  The  uni- 
form is  dropped,  and  the  conductor  appears  like  an 


306  THE  MAN  NEXT  DOOR, 

angel  divested  of  wings.  Yesterday  I  had  for  a 
conductor  a  man  whose  dress  would,  under  other 
circumstances,  indicate  that  he  was  a  well-to-do 
drinker  and  a  grocery  politician. 

To-day  I  have  been  under  the  charge  of  a  fine- 
looking  man  in  a  business  suit,  blue  shirt,  loose 
black  neckerchief,  and  a  slouch  hat.  He  was  a 
sociable  man  with  the  brakemen,  and  when  not 
going  through  the  car  was  in  animated  conversa- 
tion with  them  upon  the  merits  of  a  fighting  dog 
which  he  was  going  to  purchase,  if  it  took  every 
cent  he  could  rake  up.  When  we  went  in  to 
dinner  at  a  way  station,  he  preceded  us,  and  sat 
down  to  the  table  without  removing  his  hat,  which 
informality  tended  to  place  everybody  on  easy 
terms. 

Oh,  by  the  way,  did  you  ever  have  a  man  come 
around  to  your  room  in  the  night  to  borrow  a 
couple  of  pills  .-•  One  such  man  came  on  that 
errand  last  night,  and  took  occasion  to  mention 
an  incident  which  occurred  in  his  boyhood.  His 
mother  gave  him  four  pills  to  take,  which  he  did  n't 
want  to  take,  of  course,  and  left  him  a  small  plate 
of  plum  jam  to  escort  the  pills.  He  got  one  down 
after  considerable  hard  work,  and  the  balance  he 
put  in  the  jam  to  await  a  more  convenient  season. 
Shortly  after  his  father  came  in,  and  noticing  the 
preserve,  calmly  disposed  of  it.  He  chewed  it 
some,  and  after  a  while  swallowed  it,  but  it  was 
supposed  that  the  flavor  was  not  exactly  pleasing 
to  him,  for  he  was  heard  to  hollo  up  the  stairs 
to  his  wife,  — 


AND   OTHER  ESSAYS.  307 

"Mary  Jane,  you  '11  have  to  bile  that  plum  sass 
over  again.     It 's  beginning  to  work,  I  think." 
An  hour  or  so  later  he  could  have  sworn  to  it. 


TRUE  NOBILITY. 

It  was  conceded  by  all  who  heard  it,  that  Miss 
Woodby's  essay  was  an  excellent  production,  and 
at  the  graduation  exercises  there  were  a  great 
many  listeners,  —  attentive  listeners,  too,  with  the 
power  of  discrimination  in  such  matters.  Miss 
Woodby  honestly  earned  the  credit.  In  preparing 
the  essay  she  had  worked  conscientiously  and 
hard,  and  under  difficulties  that  the  public  could 
not  have  appreciated. 

Fortunately  we  are  in  possession  of  the  facts 
in  this  connection,  that  we  now  propose  to  lay 
before  our  readers,  that  they  may  judge  for  them- 
selves of  the  number  of  thorns  which  not  only 
lay  in  Miss  Woodby's  road,  but  which  beset  every 
path  to  true  excellence. 

Miss  Woodby  having  devoted  a  week  to  revolv- 
ing over  in  her  mind  the  variety  of  subjects  pre- 
senting themselves,  with  a  view  to  the  selection 
of  a  suitable  topic,  chose  under  the  head  of  moral 
improvement.  On  a  Monday  morning  she  re- 
solved to  begin  the  work  that  day  as  soon  as  she 
reached  home   from    school.      The   title  selected 


308  THE  MAN  NEXT  BOOK, 

was  "True  Nobility."  Having  a  few  minutes  to 
spare  at  noon,  she  got  out  the  paper  and  wrote 
down  the  head,  with  some  pretty  flourishes  be- 
neath it.  It  was  an  unpropitious  day  for  the 
beginning,  being  washing-day,  and  the  house  in 
the  consequent  disorder  attendant  thereon.  The 
washerwoman's  child,  never  at  the  best  a  rugged 
child,  was  to-day  suffering  from  the  excessive  heat, 
and  its  little  body  was  broken  out  with  blotches, 
and  its  little  voice  piped  forth  in  pitiful  protest. 
The  washerwoman  herself  was  more  or  less 
influenced  by  the  suffering  of  her  child,  and  the 
effect  of  the  heat  upon  her  own  body.  She  was 
a  little  woman  with  a  thin  face,  from  which  had 
apparently  been  wrung  every  hopeful  expectation, 
as  though  it  had  passed  through  a  great  moral 
wringer,  and  had  come  out  in  a  condition  most 
complimentary  to  the  thoroughness  of  the  process. 
It  was  a  waiting  face,  with  the  shadow  of  a  cross 
resting  constantly  upon  it. 

The  crying  of  the  child  was  a  decided  annoyance, 
especially  to  one  striving  to  get  her  mind  into  an 
even  frame  for  thought.  To  Miss  Woodby  the 
sounds  were  most  irritating.  She  said  to  her 
mother,  — 

"What  on  earth  is  the  matter  with  that  imp 
to-day .'' " 

Her  mother,  having  her  own  hands  full,  vouch- 
safed no  explanation. 

"I  declare,"  she  ejaculated  a  moment  later,  "if 
I  had  a  brat  like  that  i  would  choke  it." 


AND  OTHER  ESSAYS.  3^9 

And  she  hurried  away  to  school  to  get  out  of 
the  sound  of  the  noise,  leaving  her  mother  to 
attend  to  the  dinner  dishes. 

In  the  afternoon  she  brought  out  her  paper, 
founli  a  cool  place  at  the  window  for  her  desk, 
and  began : — 

"true  nobility. 

"There  is  the  nobility  of  blood  and  the  nobility 
of  life.  The  former  is  but  an  accident  of  birth  ; 
the  latter  is  the  result  of  development.  The 
former  is  but  for  the  few  ;  the  latter  is  for  the 
many.  True  nobility  is  a  life  nobly  lived.  It 
comes  neither  from  birth  nor  from  circumstances. 
It  springs  alone  from  the  heart.  Money  cannot 
purchase  it  ;  education  cannot  bring  it ;  talent  will 
not  produce  it.  It  is  a  treasure  which  every  man 
may  possess,  and  yet  its  price  is  above  rubies." 

At  this  juncture  Miss  Woodby  was  obliged  to 
take  a  long  pause  to  rearrange  her  thoughts,  and 
while  thus  engaged  her  little  brother  appeared  at 
the  door.     Miss  Woodby  looked  up  impatiently. 

"Don't  come  in  here,"  she  commanded. 

"But  I  want  my  hat." 

"  Well,  get  it  and  leave  at  once  !  " 

"  You  need  n't  be  so  cross,"  he  said. 

"  If  you  don't  leave  at  once  1  '11  make  you," 
she  declared. 

He  got  his  hat  with  all  the  speed  possible,  but 
on  leaving  had  the  satisfaction  of  screaming  out, 
"Mean  thing!"  and  slamming  the  door  with  all 
his  might.    It  was  fully  fifteen  minutes  before  Miss 


3IO  THE  MAN  NEXT  DOOR, 

Woodby  was  sufficiently  composed  to  renew  her 
work.     Then  she  wrote  :  — 

"  It  is  a  jewel,  whose  lustre  grows  brighter  with 
every  day  of  its  use.  It  is  a  possession  that  time 
cannot  wear  ;  that  misfortune  cannot  diminish  ;"  that 
no  combination  of  circumstances  can  rob  us  of. 
The  hardest  battle  is  the  fight  against  self.  The 
grandest  victory  is  the  triumph  over  self.  There 
can  be  no  true  education  where  self-denial  is  not 
accomplished.     Self  deadens  —  " 

Just  here  Miss  Woodby's  mother  came  to  the 
room,  to  tell  her  to  put  away  her  clothes  that  had 
just  been  ironed. 

"  I  can't  bother  about  that  now,"  said  Miss 
Woodby. 

"But  they  are  in  my  way." 

"Gracious!  how  can  I  write  or  do  anything  if 
I've  got  to  be  jumping  up  every  minute.''"  de- 
manded the  young  authoress,  in  a  tone  of  very 
proper  resentment. 

Mrs.  Woodby  withdrew  her  tired  body,  and  went 
back  to  her  work  with  a  sigh. 

"  I  don't  see  what  makes  ma  act  so  contrary," 
murmured  Miss  Woodby  to  herself.  "  She  could 
have  put  away  those  things  herself,  if  she  cared  to 
be  any  way  accommodating."  Then  she  bent  her 
mind  again  to  the  task  of  composition.  Before 
she  could  get  in  order  to  commit  matter  to  the 
page,  tea  was  announced.  After  tea  her  mother 
asked  her  to  clear  the  table  and  wash  the  dishes, 
but  she  had  to  think,  and  could  not  do  this.     She 


AND  OTHER  ESSAYS.  SH 

inquired,  with  considerable  reason,  if  she  was 
expected  to  do  everything  on  earth,  and  get  an 
essay  ready  too  ?  She  went  out  and  sat  under  a 
tree  until  the  table  was  cleared,  and  then  she 
brought  out  her  manuscript,  and  continued:  — 

"  Self  deadens  the  better  instincts,  and  makes 
him  who  yields  thereto  a  torture  to  himself  and  a 
burden  to  those  about  him.  True  nobility  is  to 
care  for  others,  to  give  up  self,  to  lose  your  own 
will  in  the  will  of  those  depending  upon  you.  He 
who  is  without  self  will  be  patient  in  trouble,  calm 
in  trial,  trusting  in  adversity,  temperate  in  pros- 
perity. His  heart  is  ever  open  to  the  cry  of  the 
burdened,  his  hand  ever  ready  to  minister  to  the 
afflicted.  No  thought  of  himself,  no  care  for  his 
own  advancement,  is  ever  allowed  to  stand  in  the 
way  of  others.  '  In  honor  preferring  one  another,' 
is  the  motto  of  his  life,  the  guide  to  every  act." 

At  this  juncture  the  baby  sister  of  Miss  Wood- 
by  climbed  upon  a  chair  at  the  table  to  see  what 
she  was  doing.  The  child  was  afflicted  by  the 
heat ;  she  had  no  amusement,  no  company,  and 
she  climbed  up  to  see  what  was  going  on.  The 
white  paper  and  moving  pen  interested  her;  more 
than  that,  they  absorbed  her  very  soul. 

"Oh!"  she  exclaimed  in  a  paroxysm  of  excite- 
ment. 

"What  are  you  doing  up  here.-'"  explosively 
cried  Miss  Woodby.  "  Get  down  from  that  table 
this  instant,  and  take  yourself  out  of  sight." 

The  great  round  eyes  filled  with  tears,  and  the 
Up  of  the  girl  baby  trembled. 


3  1 2  THE  MAN  NEXT  DOOR, 

Miss  Woodby  could  have  cried  with  vexation. 

"What,  for  pity's  sake,  can  ma  be  thinking  of  to 
let  you  come  here  to  bother  the  life  out  of  me  ? 
Go  away  this  minute,  or  I  '11  slap  you." 

The  child  scrambled  down  and  toddled  away  to 
find  her  mother,  crying  aloud  with  the  pain  of  dis- 
appointment. The  mother,  being  out  on  the  front 
stoop  to  catch  a  breath  of  fresh  air,  heard  the  cry, 
and  hurried  to  meet  and  comfort  the  child.  In 
her  wearied  lap  she  took  the  baby,  and  listened  to 
its  story,  and  kissed  it  back  to  a  quiet  broken 
only  by  occasional  half-suppressed  sobs  from  its 
quivering  lips. 

Miss  Woodby,  being  left  undisturbed,  started 
her  pen. 

"  No  storm  can  reach  him.  He  stands  immov- 
able before  every  onslaught  from  the  world.  True 
to  himself,  true  to  his  God,  true  to  every  prompt- 
ing of  duty,  his  inner  life  is  like  the  mountain 
lake  in  the  sunshine  of  a  midsummer  day ;  reflect- 
ing within  its  pure,  unruffled  bosom,  the  bright 
heaven  above." 

This  was  a  very  fine  passage,  and  Miss  Woodby 
was  nearly  an  hour  perfecting  it,  including  the  op- 
eration of  getting  a  light,  as  her  mother  was  not 
present  to  do  it  for  her.  She  was  reading  this 
paragraph  over  foi  the  fourth  time,  with  abound- 
ing satisfaction,  when  her  brother,  with  a  neigh- 
boring boy,  came  "trooping"  in.  He  brought  in 
the  other  boy  to  show  him  a  book  that  had  been 
given  him.     He  approached    the    table  with    the 


AND   OTHER   ESSAYS.  313 

enthusiasm  peculiar  to  youth,  and  with  noisy  hos- 
pitaHty  observed,  — 

"Bring  up  a  chair,  Bill,  and  look  at  the  pic- 
tures." 

"Charles!"  exclaimed  his  sister,  almost  par- 
alyzed by  the  audacity  of  this  movement,  "don't 
you  see  I  'm  writing  ?  " 

"What  of  that?"  he  surlily  demanded.  "I 
a'n't  touching  you,  am  I }  " 

"But  you  bother  me,  and  I  won't  stand  it. 
Now  you  just  take  your  book  away." 

This  was  very  pleasant  for  "  Bill,"  who  had  come 
in  to  spend  the  evening  and  improve  his  mind. 

"  I  guess  I  '11  show  Bill  this  book  if  I  want  to," 
sputtered  Charles. 

"You  won't  show  it  here,  I  can  tell  you." 

"  But  we  won't  make  a  bit  of  noise,  will  we, 
Bill .'' "  cried  Charles,  to  the  great  distress  of  Bill, 
who  was  quite  overwhelmed  by  the  reference  to 
himself. 

"I  tell  you  I  won't  have  you  here,  anyway," 
retorted  his  sister,  growing  white  with  passion. 
"Are  you  going  to  leave,  or  shall  I  help  you  .-'  " 

There  was  such  an  ominous  expression  to  both 
voice  and  face,  that  "  Bill  "  involuntarily  shrank  to 
the  door,  while  the  angered  Charles,  none  the  less 
impressed  with  the  advisability  of  departing,  threw 
the  book  with  a  slam  on  the  table,  requested  his 
sister,  with  great  feeling,  to  go  to  blazes,  and  es- 
caped with  his  companion.  A  moment  later  she 
was  restored  to  composure  by  the  sublimity  of 
her  theme.     She  wrote:  — 


314  THE  MAN  NEXT  DOOR, 

"  True  nobility  is  a  life  consecrated  to  the  weal 
of  others.  There  can  come  no  true  nobility  with- 
out this  consecration.  And  that,  to  be  effective, 
must  lean  upon  a  higher  power  than  aught  of  this 
earth.  God  must  be  in  it  to  make  it  a  power. 
Without  His  help  it  is  impossible  to  overcome  self. 
Set  the  mark  as  high  as  we  may,  human  weak- 
ness will  prevent  its  attainment.  Only  in  Him  and 
through  Him  can  we  rise  to  this  nobility." 

Hereupon,  finding  that  it  was  getting  late,  Miss 
Woodby  put  up  her  writing,  and  retired  to  bed. 

Immediately  after  eating  her  breakfast  the  next 
morning  she  hurried  to  her  room  and  began  again. 
Her  mother  told  her  she  would  want  her  help  in 
clearing  off  the  breakfast-table,  but  she  felt  she 
could  not  spare  the  time,  and  took  advantage  of 
her  parent's  absence  from  the  table  to  get  away. 
She  wrote  :  — 

"  But  we  ourselves  must  strive.  He  will  not 
make  this  better  life  for  us,  but  if  we  are  deter- 
mined to  reach  it,  He  will  help  us.  The  secret  of 
success  is  care  for  little  things,  the  attending  con- 
scientiously to  the  performance  of  the  smallest 
duties.  That  duty  which  comes  first,  whatever  it 
may  be,  is  the  one  to  be  performed.  That  claim 
which  is  first  presented  upon  us  is  the  one  to 
honor." 

At  this  point  in  the  essay  the  door  opened  and 
her  brother  presented  himself.  He  had  not  for- 
gotten the  episode  of  the  night  before.  He  surlil)' 
observed  :  — 


AND   OTHER  ESSAYS.  3^5 

"  Ma  wants  you  to  comb  my  hair  and  tie  my 
bow,  so  I  can  get  ready  for  school." 

"  It  ain't  time  for  you  to  go  to  school  yet,  in  an 
hour,  and  you  know  it,"  she  impatiently  replied. 

"Well,  don't  I  want  to  go  out  in  the  street.^" 
he  demanded.  "You  don't  s'pose  I  am  going  to 
stay  in  the  house  all  the  time  .'*" 

"  I  don't  care  where  you  stay,  or  what  you  do. 
I  am  not  going  to  leave  my  work  to  bother  with 
you,  and  if  you  want  to  go  away  to  play,  you  can 
go  as  you  are,  or  stay  indoors  till  I  get  ready  to 
attend  to  you." 

"I  won't  stay  in." 

"Then  let  ma  comb  your  hair.  I'll  como  it 
with  a  chair  if  you  don't  get  out  of  my  sight. 
You  are  enough  to  drive  a  saint  mad." 

Whether  this  encomium  to  his  qualities  was  all 
he  desired  is  not  known,  but  he  left,  and  reported 
to  his  mother  the  result  of  the  errand,  and  pes- 
tered her  until  she  dropped  her  work  and  made 
him  ready  for  the  street. 

"I  wish  your  sister's  essay  was  in  the  fire,"  she 
was  driven  to  say. 

Before  Miss  Woodby  could  commence  again  a 
fellow-pupil  called,  and  the  time  till  school  was 
taken  up  in  conversation  upon  the  graduation 
toilets. 

In  the  afternoon  she  got  down  to  work  at  the 
sitting-room  window. 

"Looking   afar  off   to   the   accomplishment   of 


3l6  THE  MAN  NEXT  DOOR, 

some  great  service,  while  little  helpful  things  at 
our  hand  are  left  undone,  is  not  the  way  to  seek 
a  true  nobility.  Every  day  should  be  set  apart 
to  duty.  It  should  be  entered  upon  with  a  firm 
determination  to  slight  nothing,  to  avail  ourselves 
of  everything  that  will  tend  to  make  those  about 
us  happier  and  better.  Thus  determined,  and 
with  an  unbroken  reliance  on  Providence,  success 
must  come." 

A  sudden  movement  in  the  yard  beneath  the 
window  attracted  her  attention.  She  looked  out 
and  beheld  her  brother  and  two  other  boys  play- 
ing on  the  grass.  A  dark  frown  settled  on  her 
face. 

"  Charles  ! "  she  cried,  "  go  away  from  there  with 
your  noise." 

"  Go  away  !  "  he  repeated.  "  What  are  we  doing 
to  you .''" 

"  You  disturb  me  in  my  writing.  Go  on  the 
other  side  of  the  house." 

"But  the  sun  is  there." 

"I  don't  care  if  it  is;  it  won't  hurt  you." 

"  Why  don't  you  go  somewhere  else  to  write  ? " 
he  saucily  inquired, 

"Don't  you  be  impudent  to  me,  young  man,  or 
I  '11  come  out  there  and  pull  your  ears  for  you. 
Go  away  at  once,  I  tell  you." 

"Come  on,  boys,"  he  suddenly  cried,  jumping 
up,  "let  's  go  away  from  the  cross  old  stick.  We 
don't  ask  any  odds  of  her." 

And  they  trooped  off. 

Miss  Woodby  could  have  almost  cried  at  the 
ungenerous  speech,  she  was  so  vexed 


AND   OTHER  ESSAYS.  317 

"The  selfish  imp,"  she  whispered  to  her  wound- 
ed heart,  referring  to  her  rude  brother. 

Then  she  resumed  her  place  at  the  writing,  and 
continued:  — 

"Is  it  not  worth  the  battle?  Is  not  a  triumph 
which  shall  bring  ourselves  into  subjection  to  the 
better  impulses  of  our  nature,  and  bring  sunshine 
into  the  lives  of  those  with  whom  we  come  in  con- 
tact, something  to  be  proud  of  and  rejoice  over  ? 
How  debasing  is  the  selfish  life  in  comparison  to 
this!  How  insignificant  and  unworthy  appear  the 
things  of  the  world  in  contrast  to  the  glory  of  a 
pure,  unselfish,  generous  life!  How  can  one  con- 
tent h  imself  to  live  only  for  the  advancement  of 
self,  to  grovel  in  the  dust  rather  than  to  mount 
to  the  clouds?  Dear  friend,  would  you  be  at 
peace,  would  you  be  happy,  would  you  be  hon- 
ored by  others,  would  you  be  lifted  Godward  ? 
Then  commence  to-night  seeking  the  welfare  of 
others  rather  than  yourself,  and  thus  reach  True 
Nobility." 

Everybody  at  the  exercises  was  pleased  with  this 
essay,  and  many  a  young  man  of  noble  impulses 
looked  upon  the  fair  authoress,  and  wished,  in  the 
very  depths  of  his  heart,  that  he  might  have  such  a 
one  for  a  life  companion. 

Miss  Woodby  is  going  into  the  country  with 
a  fellow-pupil  next  week,  to  spend  the  heated 
term  beneath  the  cool  trees  and  by  the  side  of 
the  running  brooks.  Her  mother  will  often  be 
theered  amid  her  family  cares  by  breezy  letters, 
without  doubt. 


LEE  AND  SHEPARD'S  POPULAR   FICTION 


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Neighbor  Jackwood.     By  J.  T.  Trowbridge.     Price  $1.50. 

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